Consequences
by Wahoogal06
Summary: Watch as Jimmy Olsen's relationship with Chloe Sullivan blossoms—and all as a new criminal element threatens Metropolis. Will Jimmy learn Clark's secret? And what's going on in the East Side Slums? A Jim/Chloe, Clark/Lois/Superman story. #2 of 5.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to "Searching for Clark Kent" that I've been working on since late November, only two days after finishing "Searching" (since I can't seem to put the Superman-universe down). If you haven't read the first in the series then I suggest you do, as there will be references made to past events that will impact the characters and the plot in this story.

Also, I would like to give a BIG THANKS to my friend and beta, the lovely VictorianSuperman. If it weren't for her help this story might never have come to fruition; she is the best editor that anyone could ask for and a very talented fan fiction writer that is currently working on a great Superman story of her own. So thanks for everything, VictorianSuperman, because without you this story might never have happened.

And now I hope you'll stick around and enjoy chapter 1 of "Consequences". Happy reading!

* * *

_**East Side Slums**_**, "??". **Kirk lay back on top of the bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him and a cigarette dangling off his lips. The television at the foot of his bed seemed to drone on endlessly as he slipped in and out of sleep. At one point he shuffled out of bed to further open the window behind the outer iron bars, allowing the miniscule breeze to flow more freely over his boxer-clad body, otherwise he stayed put in a puddle of sweat. He clasped his hands behind his head and crossed his feet at his ankles; leaning back against the headboard, he took a deep drag on his cigarette and allowed himself to smile.

He'd been out of prison for two months and his life couldn't be going any better, even if he'd planned it. His 'Uncle' hired him on as a stock boy at one of his 'corner markets' (which was a good enough job to keep the parole officer off his back), when in reality he had jumped right back into the drug trade in the same neighborhood where he'd been collared three years earlier.

Now, thanks to this same Uncle, he had cash in his pocket, food on his table and a roof over his head…and all within eight short weeks.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**February 14, 2009. **Jimmy Olsen walked a short distance away from the entrance to the Ottman Hotel before hailing a cab back to his own apartment. He'd just dropped off his date, Chloe Sullivan, after an eventful evening out. In fact, he felt that he wasn't so much walking as he was floating on Cloud Nine. _I haven't had a first date this good since…since…_he ran through a mental checklist of his previous girlfriends, which was rather limited…_since ever__. Wow…I don't know if I should be happy or sad about that…_he frowned momentarily before deciding that one great first date trumped all the other mediocre ones in his brief dating history, as he clambered into the yellow taxi.

"324 Hoyden Street, please," he told the driver before staring blankly out the window. _Chloe…such a pretty name…and she's smart too! Not like the other girls I've dated before…she's brassy, kind of like Lois, but softer somehow…oh man am I in trouble…_Jimmy let his thoughts drift back to their date at O'Malley's that evening, occasionally chuckling to himself as he recalled some smart aleck-y comment one or the other had made, all the while grinning like a fool.

He let himself into his small, third floor apartment and flicked on the light without a thought, simultaneously shutting the door behind him and flinging his jacket on the shabby brown sofa nearby. The keys had just fallen into the bowl on the hall table with a clang when the telephone rang. _It's almost midnight, who could that be…?_ Jimmy lunged for the phone.

"Hi, Jimmy?" a female voice asked tentatively.

"Yes?"

"It's Chloe."

He started where he stood, his eyes going wide while he debated whether his ears were deceiving him. _Well this isn't exactly normal, but ok…_

"I know this is a bit unorthodox," she started to say to him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while her nightgown swished around her calves, "But 'The Metropolan' is flying me back home tomorrow evening and I really wanted to see you again before I left. Do you think we could meet for lunch or something?"

"Lunch would be great! I, uh, I was thinking of saying something back at the hotel…"

"…but we were kind of preoccupied," she said, slightly embarrassed as the image of them making out like teenagers rose to the forefront of her mind.

"Yeah, and I didn't want to come on too strong…"

"Oh, you're plenty strong," she quipped.

He laughed. "Hey now, don't sell yourself short, you're the one that kicked the gun out of his hand."

"But I'm not the prize fighter who knocked him out in one punch either." At that they both laughed off their near scare from an hour before.

"How about we just say we're even and I'll meet you in front of the Ottman at, say, 1 o'clock tomorrow? Or is that too late for you?"

"No, 1 o'clock is fine. I look forward to it." She paused, and he wondered if she could hear his heart beating in his ears. "Good night, Jim. Again."

"Good night."

He replaced the phone in its cradle and walked down the short hallway to his bedroom with a large grin permanently plastered to his face. Standing at the foot of the bed with his back to the mattress, he allowed himself to free-fall onto his comforter, swooning like a girl. _She called me…I can't believe she called me AGAIN! Wow…_

Superman stood on the roof of the building opposite his childhood friend's hotel room and watched her smile broaden as she hung up the phone. He had meant to change clothes and knock on her door—to check up on her to see if she was truly alright after the hold-up earlier in the evening—but by the look and sound of it, the near-mugging was all but a memory. He smiled to himself as she prepared to crawl under the covers for some well-deserved rest.

_Good night Chloe…I hope he makes you happy…_

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**February 15, 2009. **"So now that we've talked about our work enough," Chloe said jokingly, knowing she had dominated that portion of the conversation with her chatter about running the _Tribune_. "Why don't you tell me something personal? Maybe something about your family?" She reached into the bread basket and pulled out a roll.

Jimmy spluttered into his soda. "Ah, um, well," he grabbed the napkin and dabbed at his chin. "There isn't all that much to tell I guess." She shot him a look almost identical to the one Lois gave him on a daily basis in the bullpen. "Ok then. Let's see, I've got four younger siblings, all of whom still live in Connecticut and two of whom still live at home with my mother, Cheryl. After me, there's my brother Josh, who just turned thirty…he works as a free-lance artist, doing mostly comic books and stuff. He's kind of the black sheep of the family, but he's really not all that bad; just a little rough around the edges. Then there's Jennifer, she's twenty-six and just got engaged about a month or two back. I haven't met her fiancé because of work and stuff, but I hear he's a really nice guy. They both work in real estate together—that's how they met, one of those taboo office romances you always hear about—and Jen tells me they're thinking of opening up their own office once they get hitched. She's probably the most successful out of all of us; I don't know if that's why Mom likes her best or not…"

"Jimmy! I'm sure your mother doesn't play favorites!" Chloe protested, lightly smacking his arm with her cloth napkin.

He smirked, "Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Then there are the twins, Justin and Jill, both nineteen and going to college. Justin's a history major—he's planning on becoming a teacher—and Jill's studying architecture."

"All J names, that's cute…"

"It's psychotic actually," he said, cutting her off before she could get any ideas. "Mom would be screaming for one of us and all we'd hear was 'J—' and she'd have all five pairs of feet come running. She said it was like listening to stampeding elephants…there were times the woman feared for her life, no joke."

Chloe threw her head back in laughter at the mental picture. "Well, in spite of the 'psychotic' names it still sounds like you've all turned out alright and she must be very proud. But you haven't mentioned your Dad, Jimmy—is it because your parents are divorced? It's nothing to be ashamed of you know, my parents went through the same thing when I was twelve."

She watched his demeanor change as the waiter stopped at the table with their burgers. As the server moved away, Chloe saw the increasingly dark cloud steal over her normally happy-go-lucky companion's face and wondered what she'd said to upset him. _Prime example of my open-mouth-insert-foot__ syndrome,_ she thought to herself as she debated over how to break the awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so careless, I was just…"

He brushed it off with a wave of his hand. "No, you were curious, and it's ok…you're a reporter; you'd think I'd be used to it by now hanging out with journalists all day and in my down time too. It's just that I have a hard time talking about him with anyone; the only other person who knows around here is Clark, and that's because we…" he stopped, choosing his words carefully, "…we come from similar circumstances." He reached for the ketchup container at the other end of the table.

_Similar circumstances? Does that mean he died too? Oh God…_"Jimmy, I had no idea your father had passed away."

"Passed away?" he asked then let out a disconcerting laugh. Now Chloe was really confused. He finished chewing the pickle he'd plopped in his mouth and answered her. "No, he's not dead, Chloe...at least, I don't think so. My father left us when I was fifteen years old. That's what I meant when I said Clark and I were similar—our Dads were either unwilling or unable to be there for us when we were teenagers; his father died whereas mine happened to just up and walk away. I really have no idea what happened to the man," he finished with a flippant wave of his hand before picking up his burger. She watched him chew away the anger and swallow down the bitterness. Hesitantly, she picked up her own meal, mimicking his movements while wishing she could take back her earlier line of questioning.

She put down the burger. "I'm really sorry, I had no idea—that must have been so awful for you."

He shrugged his shoulders and put his own meal back on his plate. _Might as well let it all out now… _"It was worse back then, when it actually happened. Mom was devastated; she kept thinking that maybe he'd gotten into a car accident and had been buried a John Doe, or that he had amnesia and couldn't remember who he was and that he had a family waiting for him at home. For a year she refused to give up hope that he'd come home one way or the other—that was the hardest thing to watch."

Jimmy let out a long sigh. "Life was never the same after he walked out on us. We owned the house free and clear, but there were six of us and Mom could only work part-time between her depression and taking care of the babies…it wasn't easy watching her like that and it made me grow up _real_ fast. Then there was the welfare and the food stamps and the hand-outs from family and friends—that was _really_ great. The kids at school used to tease me to no end—Hole-sen Olsen and the like—because I'd wear my clothes until they were threadbare to try and save the family some money. I barely made it out of high school, and when I did I came straight here looking for work so I wouldn't be a burden and so I could send some money home to Mom and the others." He got a faraway look in his eyes just then as he stared into space behind Chloe, recalling those first few years trying to eek out a living with nothing but his high school diploma and a photography portfolio; the nights spent at the YMCA huddled protectively around his camera case; gulping down coffee as a copy boy to keep the hunger at bay; the day he'd finally convinced Perry White to take another look at his work and hire him full-time at the _Daily Planet_.

Chloe wondered what was going on behind those puppy-dog brown eyes of his, knowing she could never truly understand the depths of his pain at the loss of his father. _He was wrong though_, she thought as she watched him, _this had to have been so much harder than when Clark lost his Dad._ She took hold of his hand then, bringing him back down to Earth, and he gave her a small sad smile. "Josh and I are the only ones old enough to really remember him—Jenny has some vague memories of a man who she thinks is Dad, but nothing too concrete—and the twins were only a year old when he split. Like I said though, Mom had it worst when it came to Dad's leaving." He finally looked into her face in time to catch Chloe wiping a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped that all on you. It's just that you're so easy to talk to, and…and I didn't even realize how far I'd gone."

"It's ok, I'm always here to listen to you if you need me. I tend to run my mouth off when I'm nervous, and that's what all that babble was about work before. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable and I'm really sorry for bringing it up, we don't have to talk about it anymore…" she resumed her uneasy rambling from earlier.

"No, it's ok, I'm kind of glad it's out in the open now. When past girlfriends would find out, they'd always look at me funny afterward, like they couldn't believe they were dating a former welfare kid or something…" he shook his head. "I don't know."

"I would NEVER treat you that way because of what you just told me. NEVER." Her tone was final, and her green eyes searched his face until he looked straight at her again, seeking to reassure him that his past wasn't about to run her off. He coughed uncomfortably and reached for his soda before speaking up.

"Um, just one more thing. Nobody here knows about all this except CK, and even he doesn't know the whole story, so I'd appreciate it if we kept it that way. You know, just…"

"No telling Lois, got it."

"Exactly." He smiled again and squeezed her hand back before attacking his burger with gusto. "So, what's your family like?" he asked, one eyebrow raised mischievously as he looked at her from across his plate.

"Oh, no you don't! I am not falling into that one! We'll leave my family for another time. Besides, it would probably take all of dinner AND dessert to tell THAT story."

"Ha ha ha, fair enough—sooooo…you see another time in our future?"

Now it was her turn to blush. In a small voice she replied, "I was hoping so, yes."

He munched thoughtfully on an onion ring. "It's a shame you have to leave for Smallville tonight," he said wistfully, twirling a second onion ring around on his finger.

"Yes it is." She put her half-eaten burger down.

"Would you like to go for dessert after this? I know a great little place around the corner…" he said, trying to hold onto her for as long as possible.

Chloe put down her soda and gave him a sad smile. "I wish I could, but there's something I need to take care of before I skip town…"


	2. Chapter 2

_**East Side Slums, **_**April 19, 1967. **_This child sure is in a great hurry to get here!_ Aaron Russell thought to himself as he watched his wife lay on the bed, gripping the sheets and panting hard through clenched teeth. Rose was trying her hardest not to scream so that she wouldn't frighten the other children. Renee, their oldest, stood just outside the bedroom door, handing her father clean towels and blankets while keeping her baby sister Penny out from underfoot. They didn't even have a chance to make it out of the apartment before Rose was incapacitated by labor pains; Aaron had to send his middle daughter, ten year old Michelle, to fetch the doctor at the clinic, fifteen minutes down the road.

He knelt at the foot of the bed and took a quick look in-between his wife's legs, scared to death of what he might find. _She's in so much pain, more so then with the other children…oh God, what if something's wrong?! _Aaron's mind flitted unbidden to the thought._ We agreed we weren't going to try for any more children after Penny, and now this! I should have…we should have…Where is that damn doctor already?!_

"I need to push!" Rose cried out from the other end of the bed.

"Are you sure? You can't wait just a few more minutes for the doctor…?" he asked, on the verge of panic.

She shook her head and her face grew red as she momentarily held her breath. A few more quick gasps before she bellowed, "I…NEED…TO PUSH…NOW!" as she started bearing down. At her mother's shout, Penny began crying fearfully; Renee scooped her up and took her into the other room away from the commotion.

All Aaron could do was wait at the bottom of the bed with a fresh towel in his hands, ready to catch this new life that was so anxious to get into the world.

_**One hour later…**_Renee, Michelle and Penny sat on the sofa in the living room, staring blankly ahead of them. The doctor arrived three whole minutes after the baby did, and he was now conducting an examination of both mother and child in the next room. The girls were still stunned into silence by the events of the last hour and a half…so much so that they didn't even ask their father if the baby was a boy or a girl when he briefly stepped out of the bedroom.

Dr. Marco exited just then with his coat draped over one arm and his hat already on his head. He touched his fingers to the brim and nodded to the girls, then calmly strode across the length of the living room and out the apartment door without another word. Their father stepped out of the bedroom five minutes later, beckoning the girls to him while holding a finger to his lips.

"Would you like to meet your new little brother?" he whispered. His daughters nodded solemnly. He gathered Penny up in his arms before nudging open the bedroom door.

Rose lay in the center of the bed, her head and back propped up against the headboard by several pillows, cradling a tiny, wrinkled little person in her arms.

"Come here girls; come say hello to your new little brother, Leroy."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**February 15, 2009. **Lois waddled over to the door, wishing she could borrow her husband's x-ray vision…_if only, say, for the next month and a half so I wouldn't need a forklift to get me out of my seat,_ she thought as she gazed through the peep hole. The back of a blond woman's head greeted her and she quickly flung open the door.

"Chloe Sullivan, you are not to go sneaking in and out of Metropolis without telling us you're here ever again, do you hear me?!" she admonished her guest as she ushered her into the apartment.

Chloe stepped forward and gave Lois a big hug, then shut the apartment door behind her. "I promise. Now let me get a good look at you!" She held her friend out at arm's length and examined her nearly eight month's pregnant form. "You are absolutely radiant!"

"Isn't she though?" Clark's voice sounded as he came striding down the hall. He was dressed in his Superman uniform and carrying a plastic grocery bag by the handles. Bending down and kissing his wife on the cheek, he held the bag aloft for both women to see. "Your gelato and pickles, just what you asked for…and there's plenty for the rest of us too," he added, winking at his friend before spinning out of the suit.

"How does he…?" Chloe asked as she watched him swap outfits in the blink of an eye, then casually retreat into the kitchen to stick the treat in the freezer.

"I don't know…I just don't know…" Lois said laughing, shaking her head. They took a seat on the sofa as Jason came zipping out of his room. The books on the coffee table flew open in his wake.

"Hi, Aunt Chloe!" the child exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Hey there, Sport!" She held her arms open and he rushed in for a hug. "How are you doing? How's school? Are you excited for your new brother or sister to get here?"

"I'm fine. Mom and Dad took me to see the new Sky Captain movie yesterday, and it was SO COOL! Dad stayed for the entire movie too, but he had to go out when we were going home." Chloe shot Lois a guilty look at that, knowing it was her call that sent Clark running the previous evening, while the other woman nodded knowingly. The little boy pressed on. "School's ok, only spelling is getting harder, but Mr. Jimmy and Uncle Perry are helping me with it when I go to work with Mom and Dad in the afternoons. Mr. Jimmy said that if I let Mom help me with my spelling homework I would never graduate the second grade," he added in a serious tone. From the back of the apartment Clark let out a deep laugh while Chloe sat on the couch busting a gut. "What?" he asked his mother, all doe-eyed and innocent.

"Did Mr. Jimmy really say that to you?" Lois asked indignantly, her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Uh huh. Why? Did he say something bad?"

Under her breath, Lois answered, "No, he didn't say something bad. He said something _really_ bad…I am going to wring that man's neck with his own camera straps for that…"

Clark walked into the room and picked his son up, having heard every word his wife said. "_Lois_…" he said, shooting her a look. Turning his attention back to Jason, he replied, "No Son, Mr. Jimmy didn't say anything bad. Now how about you let your Mom, Aunt Chloe and I catch up a bit and then we'll head out to Grandma's to give her the Valentine's Day card you made her, ok? How does that sound?" He set him back down on the ground.

"Ok." The boy was about to speed out of the room when he turned to Chloe again. "And I can't wait for my little brother either!" he added before quitting the room.

His Aunt stared after him. "He really is gunning for a brother, isn't he?"

Lois nodded. "Yep. We've told him over and over again that it could be a boy OR a girl, but the way he keeps talking—'My brother this,' and 'Me and my brother that,'—it's making me a little nervous about how he'll react if isn't a boy. He's a good kid but he's prone to the occasional tantrum like anybody else and now that his strength is coming in…"

"Oh wow. I can see where that might be a problem. Clark, can't you just…?" she made the motion of lowering a pair of glasses while glancing at Lois' stomach.

"I could but I won't. I wouldn't even know where to start looking." She looked at him skeptically. "I mean I _know_ what to look for, but what if I confuse part of the umbilical cord for…_you know_…and it turns out I'm wrong? Then Jason would get his hopes up and it would be even harder for him to accept a little sister if the baby is in fact a girl. Besides, Lois and I have agreed that this is one surprise we're willing to wait for."

"Ok then, well I'm fresh out of ideas but I'm sure it'll all work out for the best. And you never know, he may take the news better than you think if it is a girl."

"I hope so…" Lois said, glancing conspiratorially at her husband. "So, Chloe, care to tell us what brings you to Metropolis? Might it be a certain photographer friend of ours…?"

"Actually…" She launched into her story about the job interview at the 'Metropolan'. "I didn't say anything before because I didn't want you going crazy trying to accommodate me, given the condition you're in, plus it was all last minute anyway and the magazine paid for it. Jimmy and I have been in touch since your wedding, and so I called him up to see if he wanted to meet for drinks, while the rest of the story you already know. Nice job with the x-ray by the way," she said, turning to look at Clark, "I wasn't sure if you'd pick up on that or not."

"Hey now, I wasn't born yesterday!" he cried out indignantly. "Besides, I was just surprised to see you, so it was you who threw me off my A-game."

"Riiiiiiight…_I_ threw _you_ off your A-game…_sure…_" the two women laughed at Clark's expense and he just smirked.

"Ok then, but next time YOU can wait for the Police to come and haul your mugger in for you!" he added. That outburst just made them laugh harder. All the jostling soon caused Lois to excurse herself so she could use the bathroom, leaving the two old friends alone.

Chloe leaned forward in her seat, looking slightly guilty. "Clark, I wanted to ask you…about Smallville…"

"Do you need a lift? I can easily bring you out and drop you off at the farm with Jason, then come back for your bags."

"And here I thought I'd have to negotiate a price for my flight!" She flopped back into the sofa. "You should never go into business for yourself, Clark; you don't know how to bargain and you're too easy-going. What I was actually hoping for was a ride home _tomorrow_; the 'Metropolan' has me booked on a flight out tonight but I was hoping to spend one more day in the City."

"Well don't worry because no price is necessary—you can redeem your Superman Sky Miles anytime, God knows you've earned them."

"Thank you so much!" she reached over and gave him a hug. "There are still some things that I need to take care of here in the City…"

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow at her curiously. "Some _things_ or some _one_…?"

"Very funny you. Don't you have some village in Austria you have to save or something?"

He turned his head to listen for the sounds of an emergency requiring his attention. "Nope, 'fraid not. But I guess now is as good a time as any to head out to Mom's before something serious does pop up…" he got up from his armchair as Lois re-entered the room. "Honey, I'm going to take Jason to my mother's for a bit. We'll bring back dinner when we're done—is there anything special you want?"

Lois nibbled on her lower lip in thought for a moment. "Maybe some of those spicy Thai noodles that you picked up last week?"

He shot her another look to which she responded non-verbally, causing him to shrug his shoulders in defeat. "Alright…but when this one keeps you up at night again doing the Rumba because of all that spice don't blame me…" He placed a large hand over her stomach and she held it there, leaning up to kiss him full on the lips. Chloe averted her gaze, feeling like an intruder in her friends' home at the sight of such a tender moment; it also reminded her of the married life she had always envisioned herself as having. Lois re-situated herself on the sofa.

"What was that about spicy noodles? And the Rumba?"

Lois tossed back her head laughing, leting her chestnut hair fall down her shoulders. "You would not BELIEVE how much this one craves spice, and then how active he or she gets at night. It's insane!" She looked down at her stomach. "Nighttime is for sleeping little one!"

"I'm sure that's something I'll just have to experience for myself someday." Jason raced back down the hallway for his jacket and backpack before heading into his parent's room to urge his father along. "How come you're not going with them?"

She tossed a hand up in the air and clasped another over her stomach. "I just don't feel all that comfortable flying long distances at this stage in the game—even in Clark's _very_ capable hands—not to mention that I have to pee like every fifteen minutes which makes traveling anywhere all the more difficult."

"And still MORE to look forward to if I ever find myself in the family way! Ok then…since it's going to be just us this afternoon, how about we do a little shopping? The mall has plenty of bathrooms AND plenty of baby stores; I need to get a jump on the title of coolest aunt ever in the eyes of my new little niece or nephew."

"Ha ha ha, well with incentives like that, why not? So long as I don't have to buy another pair of extra-extra large maternity pants I am yours for the afternoon; just give me a minute to change my shirt first. You should know though, that unlike your super-charged friend here," she hiked her thumb at Clark, now back in his primary-colored suit and re-entering the living room with Jason in tow, "I don't move at any speed faster than a waddle."

"I'll consider myself fairly warned, and feel free to take all the time you need, I'll be waiting right here." Lois headed on down to the bedroom and Chloe stood up, watching her friend as he knelt down to be at eye level with his son.

"Did you remember to bring the Valentine's Day pictures you made for Grandma?"

"Yep, they're in my backpack, see?" Jason pulled out a handful of colorful drawings.

"Ok then," he straightened up, towering over the others in the room. "Well Chloe, it looks like I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Just give me a call whenever you're ready to head out and I'll meet you at your hotel."

"Or anywhere else on Earth, for that matter. You never know, I may call up Batman and hitch a ride to Gotham or something."

"Wiseacre," he said with a chuckle as she bent down to hug his son good-bye.

She straightened up, grinning at him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thanks again for the lift."

He shot her his trademark mega-watt smile then proceeded to toss Jason playfully over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, causing the boy to howl with laughter. "Bye, Aunt Chloe!" he cried out, waving, before his father turned him around and they headed out the living room window.

"No matter how long I've known you, it is still so cool to see you do that," she said aloud in the empty living room, knowing he could still hear her even with his head up in the clouds.

"Ready to go?" Lois asked, walking back into the room.

"Absolutely." Chloe grabbed her purse from beside her on the sofa and headed to the front door as they retrieved their coats. Lois took her house keys out of her purse and moved out into the hallway, locking the apartment shut behind her.

"So, you and Jimmy…"


	3. Chapter 3

_**East Side Slums, **_**May 23, 1969. **Aaron shook his head as he turned the key in the lock of the front door to his apartment building. It was with a sigh and a look of annoyance that he registered the fact that the elevator was out again and began to plod up the stairs to the ninth floor. He cursed under his breath when he reached the third floor, small beads of perspiration trickling down the sides of his face, until he realized just how lucky he had it. _Most of the people in this neighborhood don't even __have__ an elevator in their building, and some of these tenements are so old they're lucky to even have indoor plumbing. I should be thankful; I've managed to put food on the table for my family and a solid roof over their heads…I may not have gotten us out of the Slums entirely like I promised Rose all those years ago, but we'll get there…slowly but surely, we'll get there. _

He shook his head again as he rounded the corner at the fifth floor, the sweat now dribbling into his collar. _That is, if that Henchy kid's car doesn't keep getting broken into. I can't keep insuring him or he'll single-handedly put me out of business; but if I turn him away then he'll be prime fodder for those outsiders who come in here trying to push those over-priced policies of theirs. Just because folks are poor doesn't mean you can kick 'em in the teeth and gouge them for every 'what if' scenario…still, if only Greg Henchy's window didn't get busted in just about every other week! He needs to remember to make sure his wallet is in his pocket and not on the seat of the car…oh well, at least it's Friday now. I can put that kid out of my mind until Monday, and then I'll let him give me a few more premature gray hairs…Lord knows my kids give me enough gray over the weekend on their own, _he thought. He ran a hand idly through the hair on the side of his head that had so recently started to turn color on him.

Two years ago, he and Rose weren't sure how to make it work having four kids; it was hard enough raising three little girls in the Slums as it was, but having Leroy proved to be quite a learning experience for them. Their son was always poking his head into just about everything, and his inquisitiveness only grew once he started crawling, and later, walking. _That boy of mine is going to give me a run for my money, _Aaron chuckled to himself as he wiped the sweat off his face with a clean handkerchief before exiting the stairwell. _I only hope I'm around long enough to see what he does with all that curiosity._

A smile crept over his face when he heard his daughters' giggles echoing down the hall; when he opened the front door he discovered why.

"Dada!" Leroy cried out, pushing his father's hat out of his eyes. It seemed his sister, Penny, had been playing dress-up with him again. The little boy wore a small red t-shirt, a diaper…and his father's size eleven shoes on his tiny baby feet. He tried to run into Aaron's legs for a hug and fell flat on his face for his efforts; but instead of crying he simply got up and shuffled over to his father, who scooped him up out of the shoes and peppered his chubby little cheeks in kisses.

Raising four children in the Slums wasn't without challenges, but it was moments like these that made the extra effort worthwhile.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, February 16, 2009. **Ralph and Gil stared at the young woman leaning casually against Jimmy Olsen's desk. She wore a long, dark overcoat against the pouring rain outside and had her hair covered with a dark green scarf—which, they noticed, coincidentally, matched the color of her eyes. Two steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee sat beside her on the desktop.

"I wonder if she realizes whose desk that is?" Ralph asked, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee while standing beside the water cooler with Gil. She seemed oblivious to the gazes of both men.

"Beats the bejeezus outta me. Maybe she thinks it's Alex's…you know, the guy over in Travel? She seems to be his type."

"Yeah, you're right…you think one of us should go over there and tell her?"

Gil glanced down at his stained shirt and slightly protruding pot belly and realized sadly that he wouldn't have a chance with her under any circumstances. "Nah, I think I'll just keep an eye on her from here and see what happens."

"Ok, suit yourself…" Ralph straightened his tie and raked his fingers through his Brylcreem-slicked hair before making his move. "Excuse me, Miss, but can I help you find somebody?" he asked in a sugary-sweet voice.

* * *

She looked him over from head to toe before giving him her patented, cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. _Oh Pretty Boy, if you only knew what a fool I'm going to make of you in just a few seconds—that would surely knock the wind right out of your sails._ "No, thank you, I'm fine right here." Chloe turned away from him and kept an eye on the elevators, waiting for Jimmy's arrival. He and Lois exited the elevator together, both soaked to the bone; Jimmy clutched his camera case to his chest beneath his coat while positively beaming beside his friend. Chloe chuckled to herself, _some days I think Jim and Jason must be related._

"I can't believe our luck, Lois…I mean, to be right there as he swoops down to save those D.P.W. workers from the gas leak like that! We were literally RIGHT THERE! Any closer and we'd have been standing on the manhole cover! I know I've got some great shots of Superman in here…the Chief is gonna be thrilled…" Jimmy's visitor stepped out into the middle of the pathway, effectively halting him in mid-sentence. "Chloe?! Oh my God, what are you doing here?! I thought you flew back to Smallville last night?"

"Well that's what I had to work on yesterday; I changed my flight to later on this evening. I hope you don't mind…I wanted to surprise you."

"I'm so glad you did!" he wrapped his arms around her enthusiastically and kissed her full on the lips, a greeting she returned without any regard for how wet he was or for the prying eyes of his co-workers.

"I'll just give you guys a minute…" Lois stage-whispered before making her way around the happy couple and to her desk to write up the story on the latest exploits of her husband's alter-ego.

Jimmy backed away when he realized that he'd gotten Chloe wet as well. "Oh geez, sorry, I totally forgot…" he was about to dash off to the men's room to get some paper towels, but she brushed him off.

"It's alright, I was wet anyways and the rain isn't showing signs of stopping any time soon. I brought you some coffee by the way—I didn't know how you took it so I grabbed some cream and sugar," she indicated to the assortment behind her.

"And this week is just shaping up to be better and better…" he replied as he leaned across her to grab the brown brew. Jimmy gulped it down without finesse, hoping it would ward off the slight chill he was feeling. "First there were our dates, then Lois and I caught Superman in mid-rescue when there weren't any other reporters or photographers on the scene, and now you're here. My morning honestly couldn't get any…"

Gil shuffled past them and spoke up, as Ralph was too overcome at the sight of the photographer conversing easily with his gorgeous young visitor. "You'd better hurry up, Olsen, or you'll be late for the staff meeting." His eyes darted over to the imposing figure of the Daily Planet's Editor-in-Chief where he stood next to the conference room doors, looking very stern as his employees filed past.

"Chloe, I'm so sorry but I have to go—are you still staying at the Ottman? Can I call you tonight and take you out to dinner again?"

She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I was hoping you would ask…as I recall, I do owe you a sordid account of my checkered past." She winked at him conspiratorially.

"That you do. I'll call you as soon as I get off work."

"Olsen!" Perry bellowed from halfway across the room, "You better leave your girlfriend and get in here if you don't want to get fired! You know I don't tolerate tardiness at staff meetings!"

"Yes Sir!" Turning back to his girlfriend, he caught her lips with his. "I'll see you tonight." With that, he dashed off toward the conference room.

Chuckling at his antics, Chloe scooped up her waylaid coffee and strode over to the elevator bay. She pushed the down button, grinning happily that her surprise went off without a hitch. Just then, Clark walked out of the stairwell next to her, running his hands through his wet hair to muss it up while making his way straight for the conference room.

"Have a good day, Clark!" she called out to him from inside the elevator, just as the doors started to close. He whipped his head around, shocked to see her, while sending water droplets flying everywhere. Clark managed to give her a smile and one of his dorky waves before unintentionally tripping on his own two feet and falling to the floor.

"Stupid boots…" was the last thing she heard him mutter before the doors closed completely, sending her down to the lobby laughing hysterically.

* * *

Clark managed to make it into the staff meeting without drawing too much of Perry's ire. As he entered the room, he spied Ralph and Gil sitting next to one another, whispering in each other's ears like school children. He almost wouldn't have been surprised to see them passing notes.

"I still can't believe that was Olsen's girl," Gil muttered to his companion whilst confusedly eyeing the sodden photographer in question.

"You and me both, pal. She's a total knock out! What do you think she's doing with a guy like him?"

"Can't be for the money that's for sure." Both men chuckled quietly at their superior wit.

Clark hung his head exasperatedly as he recognized the gossip as having similar content to what was flying around the bullpen when his engagement to Lois was announced. _I wonder if they'll ever learn…_

* * *

The pair met for dinner in the hotel restaurant that evening, the inclement weather influencing their decision to stay nearby.

"So, what did you do all day?" Jimmy asked interestedly after they'd situated themselves in their booth.

"Oh, you know…got in touch with a few of my contacts here in the City to see if there were any other job openings I hadn't heard about, went over my resumé again, then I meandered over to the Vanderworth Museum of Art and got lost for a couple of hours."

"You're into art? I didn't know that..."

She shrugged her slender shoulders. "I'm not so much _into_ art as I appreciate it and know what I like. I took an art history course in college, but that was the extent of my education in the subject. There's just something to be said about subjectively admiring a painting and being taken in by its beauty, all the while wondering if the person standing next to you thinks it's not even worth the paper it's painted on. I know—I sound crazy, right? But half the fun of going to a museum is for the people-watching—at least, for me it is, anyway."

"It's not crazy, Chloe. You're talking to a guy who makes his living out of watching people and capturing the moments on film—I may not be Annie Leibovitz but what I do is still considered an art form."

"I hear you, and you're right that's very true. You actually make me sound less crazy than I really am."

He stared at her, perplexed by that odd comment when the waitress came by to take their drink orders. Jimmy waited until the girl had returned with their drinks before attempting to re-start the conversation, then stopping and thinking better of it in mid-thought. Chloe watched him open and close his mouth twice without saying anything before she couldn't take it any longer.

"What's on your mind, Jim? You look like a fish out of water over there…is your drink not strong enough?"

"No!" he cried, startled, before continuing in a calmer manner, "No, the drink is fine, it's something else…" he mulled the thought over once more and decided to bite the bullet. "You've referred to yourself several times as being crazy, or sounding crazy—I know some people use the term in an off-handed sort of way, but it doesn't sound that way when you say it. Is there something else that you're not telling me? You don't have to...tell me, I mean. It's not that I'm trying to pry, it's just that you're worrying me."

"Hey, I owe you from the other night when I was harping on you about your Dad, don't I? I thought we'd at least get a bread basket first before rolling out the Sullivan family drama…" After many years of hiding her pain, Chloe had learned to cloak her uneasiness behind her trademark sarcasm. As if on cue, their waitress deposited a basket of piping hot rolls before taking their orders. "Now that was just creepy," she said, gesturing at the bread. He nodded silently, watching her attempt to lighten the mood, but the lack of sparkle in her normally expressive green eyes belied her effort.

Chloe took another sip of her drink to stall the inevitable. "Do you remember the other day? I told you that my parents divorced when I was 12. Well they had separated about four years before that and I lived with my Dad…"

"Ok..." he responded, his brows knitting together in slight confusion as to the relevance of this new information.

She inhaled deeply before pushing onward. "I lived with my Dad because my Mom was institutionalized." Chloe resisted elaborating further, finishing her drink in several swallows while watching and waiting to see how he would react to the news.

Jimmy put down his bread and folded his hands on the table in front of him, carefully observing how she was avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks were flushed and he could tell that her even breathing was forced. Chloe's heart felt like it was racing a million miles a minute as she wondered, helplessly, if her wonderful relationship with this man was irreparably ruined now that he knew she was the daughter of a crazy person.

"So…you were raised by your Dad then?" he asked mildly.

Her head snapped up at that and she pierced him with her verdant gaze, her reporter's mind trying to find the angle behind such an odd choice in a first question. Jim met her stare openly with his own—his clear brown eyes kind in his cherubic face. Chloe felt flustered at his obvious lack of an agenda. "Pretty much, yes…" she replied, slowly.

"Well, he must be very proud of you—being the youngest editor of the _Smallville Tribune_ and all."

"He is…" she tilted her head in confusion, unable to fathom her date's unwillingness to ask the obvious questions. "But don't you want to know why my Mother was committed, or whether I've seen her since? Aren't you even the least bit curious to know what her condition is and if it's hereditary?"

Jimmy just shrugged his shoulders. "Not really, no."

They watched one another in silence for several minutes; Chloe continued to puzzle over him until their meals were set down. She ordered a second drink then, taking a long sip when it finally arrived. Neither had reached for their silverware.

"Ok, I give up; why aren't you interested, Jimmy?"

"Because you don't want to tell me."

"But I do."

"No you don't; your entire body language is telling me that you don't… for someone who claims to be a people-watcher you sure are lousy at reading people." She visibly started at his smart-aleck remark before she caught the trademark grin that spread across his face.

Chloe smiled tightly at his attempt to cheer her up. She sighed, "I do want to tell you, it's just that…well, I've only ever told one other man in my life, and he reacted very badly to the news. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard someone say 'Check please!' so fast before or since." She took another sip of her drink.

"That's his loss, besides he sounds like a jerk to begin with."

She laughed at that. "He was."

"I'm fine with you telling me whatever you're comfortable with, Chloe."

"I know. I should have known from the first minute I told you, but I kept seeing Blake's face on re-play in my head."

"Blake?" he asked.

"The jerk."

"Oh."

"You have to promise me one other thing," she said, reaching out for his hand suddenly. He loved the feel of her smooth velvety skin against his calloused fingers. "Don't tell Clark. He knows my folks are divorced, but he doesn't know why—and I'd prefer to keep it that way. It's just been so long and...well he doesn't need to know."

"Absolutely; you should know that I would never violate your confidence by sharing anything you tell me."

She nodded. "My Mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia when I was six and a half. Dad tried to make it work as best he could, keeping a full time job while looking after her and making sure life was as normal as possible for me; but by the time I was eight, her hallucinations became chronic and it overwhelmed him.

"Right after she was diagnosed, during one of her more lucid moments, she and Dad had a talk. She didn't want to tie him down, didn't want to burden him when the disease finally claimed her. Mom told him that when the time came, she wanted him to have her committed and divorce her. She felt it was the only way she wouldn't haunt him and that he and I could go on living a normal life. So that's why, in 1983, my father had my mother committed to Belle Reeve Sanitarium. I didn't find out about all this until much later."

"But he didn't divorce her then?" Jimmy asked, wincing with instant regret at the impropriety of the question.

"It's alright. No, he didn't. He told me later on that he couldn't; in spite of her rapid transformation from his best friend into someone wholly unrecognizable, he still loved her. It wasn't until four years later, when we were getting ready to leave Oklahoma for his new job in Smallville, Kansas, that he approached the attorneys about going through with the divorce; he had to do it for legal reasons, so that he could move me across state lines without repercussion. The divorce is on paper only—my father still loves her too much to consider himself a 'free man' like she had intended and he still refers to her as 'Angie, my wife'."

"That poor man…" he replied, fighting to maintain control over his emotions. His parents had known love like that once, and then only very briefly, but he remembered it being there nonetheless…_while_ _her father has held onto that love for a lifetime_.

She nodded mutely, the pain over the loss of her mother commingling with the knowledge that her father had also lost his wife and true love. "Dad flies back to see her three times a year: on her birthday, their anniversary and at Christmas. Sometimes I go with him, but it's so hard because I don't know her; I don't see my Mother, all I see is an anxiety-riddled, middle-aged, delusional woman." Chloe downed the remainder of her second drink in an attempt to stave off the tears.

Without thinking Jimmy clutched her hand firmly in both of his. "It's ok, Chloe, it's ok…"

* * *

All too soon, the end of the meal came about and with it, Jimmy's realization that his date was severely intoxicated.

"What time does your flight leave?" he asked, before he was fully aware of her condition. He pulled out his wallet to pay the check.

"Whenever… Itellitto," she slurred out, placing a hand on her forehead trying to soothe the pounding. As the state of her drunkenness became apparent, Jimmy helped her out of the booth and then into the lobby, settling her down on one of the sofas before collecting her checked luggage.

"TakemetoClark's, Dimmy," she slurred again as they made their way awkwardly to the sidewalk. Jimmy reeled, trying to balance carrying the bags with Chloe who had her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I really don't feel comfortable doing that…"

"Takeme to Clark'sssssssss…" she said before becoming distracted by the multitude of passing cars outside. It irked him that, after such an evening of breakthroughs, it was _Clark _she was trusting to get her home safely; he sighed helplessly, there was no way or means of arguing with her in this state. The valet hailed a taxi for them and helped Jimmy get her into the car.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked.

"1572 Summer Street please."

* * *

The Man of Steel heard the two heartbeats struggling to get to his front door long before he heard the knocking.

"Huh?" Lois asked sleepily, rolling over heavily to face her husband at the sound of the noise. "Clark, who's there?"

"I think it's…" he x-rayed the walls. "Yes, it's who I think it is. Go back to sleep, Sweetheart; I'll take care of it."

She nodded her head against the pillow and inhaled deeply, eyes still closed, before rolling back over onto her other side where the baby seemed more comfortable. Clark reached for the glasses on his bureau and carefully made his way to the front door, throwing on his robe as he went.

"CK?" he heard a loud whisper coming through the front entrance. "CK, it's Jimmy! Look, I'm really sorry to…"

Chloe was now more exuberant than she had been upon first leaving the Ottman, and she kept calling out "CK!" very loudly in amidst her giggles. She kept repeating it until it sounded like 'seek'. Clark unlocked the door and quickly caught her as she collapsed into his arms. "I _knew_ you'd catch me, SEEK! Ha ha!"

Clark gave Jimmy a stern look as the other man pushed her bags inside and shut the door. "What happened, Jimmy?" he asked, his voice fuzzy with sleep.

"We were just enjoying a nice dinner together and then we got into some personal stuff…I'm sorry Man, but I can't tell you anything more than that, she made me promise. Anyways, she started hitting the martinis pretty hard afterward. I tried to stop her and I thought I had, but she ordered another one when I went to the restroom. She had four martinis in a little over an hour! And when I tried to ask her what time her flight left she wouldn't give me a straight answer and just kept insisting I bring her here. I know Lois needs her rest what with the baby and all, but I didn't know what else to do…"

Clark put a hand on Jimmy's shoulder to stop him, knowing that when Chloe put her mind to something there was no use trying to stop her. With a slight chuckle, he added, "I haven't seen her this bad since she was in college."

"COLLEGE!!" she said loudly, perking up again and lifting her head off Clark's shoulder. "Iyad FUNin college, SEEK!" She hiccupped loudly.

He gently scooped her up in his arms, leaving Jimmy standing by the doorway in awe of his friend's sudden grace. "I know you did…I remember you telling me some pretty wild stories."

"_Wild_…hey! Whyaren'twein Smaaaaaaaaaaaaaallville?" she asked, looking up at him all glossy-eyed.

He deposited her on the sofa, silently praying she wouldn't blurt out anything that would incriminate him or Superman. "Because I live in Metropolis now and you were here visiting, remember?"

She grabbed hold of a pillow and curled up on her side as her friend tucked the soft, chenille throw around her. "Uh huh…you know gud peoplin Metrapopalis, Seek. Jiiiiimmy's gud people." She yawned hugely and mumbled something unintelligible as she drifted off to sleep.

"Yes, he is very good people," he replied quietly, backing away from her slumbering form and winking at Jimmy, who still stood in the doorway in shock at this new side to his friend. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and leave it right here, ok?" A loud snore was her only response. Clark straightened up as much as he'd allow himself to in Jimmy's presence and made his way back over to his friend.

"You did the right thing bringing her over here. Don't worry, we'll figure this all out when she wakes up in the morning," he opened the front door to let the tired young man go home.

"Ok, but if she needs anything in the middle of the night…"

"I have your cell phone number, I'll call you. Good night." He closed the door on Jimmy's retreating figure. Turning back to the sofa, he watched Chloe's chest rise and fall with the quick and heavy breathing only the highly intoxicated seemed capable of. _What on Earth were those two talking about that made her feel the need to get drunk? Was it something she wouldn't even tell me?_ Clark padded in his bare feet down the hall to his bedroom. He slipped into his spandex suit and returned to the living room as quietly as possible, carrying his boots in one hand so as to not awaken Chloe. When he realized that she was dead to the world and not going to wake up any time soon, he quickly donned his footwear, grabbed her luggage and flew with it right out the living room window.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Public School 139, East Side Slums,**_** October 7, 1974. **"Mr. and Mrs. Russell? I'm so sorry to keep you waiting; if you'd like to come in and have a seat, I'd be happy to discuss Leroy's progress with you," Sandy Carmichael offered as she stood in the doorway to her classroom. Aaron and Rose quickly stood from their seats in the plastic chairs in the hallway and made their way into the room, eager to get Leroy's parent-teacher conference underway.

The space was crowded, to say the least; there were at least twenty-eight desks crammed into the room, separated out into seven batches of four. Colorful, finger-painted artwork littered the walls and a long, child-sized bookshelf dominated the wall just inside the door. Leroy's parents picked their way through the classroom before taking their seats in the two wooden chairs set-up across from Mrs. Carmichael's desk.

"First, Mr. and Mrs. Russell, I'd like to tell you what a joy it's been getting to know your son this past month. I've really enjoyed having him in my class, and before you ask, no, I don't say that to _all_ the parents," she informed them, a genuine sparkle in her eye.

"Oh good!" Rose said quickly as she let loose the breath she'd been holding. "It's just that, well, Leroy's kindergarten teacher told us what a handful he was last year, and we were afraid those problems might have carried over…"

"Well, you can rest assured that I haven't seen a troublesome streak in Leroy so far. I was looking through his file earlier and I noticed Miss Joyce's notes regarding his kindergarten year; I think, however, that she had the situation all wrong."

Aaron furrowed his brow in concern. "She did? How so?"

Mrs. Carmichael bit her lower lip nervously. "Well, I hate to speak ill of another teacher…" she shrugged lightly, "…but Miss Joyce was old and nearing retirement; I think she was probably too tired to really pay attention to him. She noted that Leroy was a handful because he never seemed to sit still; that he wouldn't pay attention to her when she was giving instructions and that he would distract other students with his behavior as well. I noticed him doing this on our third day of class, but once I discovered what the problem was we fixed it and there hasn't been another outburst since."

Aaron and Rose leaned forward in their seats, waiting to finally discover the cause of their son's classroom disobedience.

"Your son is exceptionally bright for his age, and I think Miss Joyce mis-categorized him when she labeled him as a troublemaker. I think Leroy was acting out simply because he was bored. In fact, I think he's very gifted."

Rose's face lit up as she turned to look at her husband. "Our boy? Gifted? Oh Aaron!" He gave his wife's hand a little squeeze, then turned his attention back to Mrs. Carmichael as she enumerated the virtues of his seven year old son.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**February 17, 2009. **"Jason! Stop hovering around your Aunt Chloe, she's had a rough night and needs her rest," Lois hissed at her son in a loud whisper, beckoning him back to the breakfast table and his half-eaten cereal.

Clark stepped into the kitchen then with a short towel slung low on his hips while vigorously rubbing his wet head with a second. "She's still not up yet?" he asked concernedly.

Lois shook her head. "It looks like she got up in the middle of the night though…her water glass was half-empty, so I re-filled it in case she woke up after we'd left for work. Were you able to take care of everything in California?"

"Hmmm? Oh yeah, no problem there…you know, I always forget what a real pain in the butt mud is to wash out…" he commented, draping the second towel around his neck and reaching into the refrigerator for the orange juice. His wife sat back in her chair at the kitchen table admiring the view, her delicate hands folded neatly over her protruding belly.

"Mmhmmm…and what a fine butt it is…" she said, sighing dreamily.

"_Lois_! Not in front of Jason!" he glanced over his shoulder at his son's spot at the table in slight horror, only to find it vacant again.

Sighing in relief that their flirting had gone undetected, he admonished his son again. "Jason, what did your Mother just say to you about leaving your Aunt Chloe alone? Now come finish your cereal." Clark quickly downed the rest of his juice, placing the empty glass in the sink before zipping down the hall to the bedroom and back again, this time wearing one of his signature ill-fitting suits with his bulky glasses perched on his nose. He leaned over to give his wife a kiss.

"I liked your other outfit better," she whispered in his ear, giving his rear a swift pat as he went to stand back up. His cheeks flushed bright red and she grinned at the sight; Lois LOVED the fact that she could make the Man of Steel blush on a daily basis. With his help, she slowly pulled herself out of her chair and took her breakfast dish to the sink.

"Ok, Buddy," Clark said, reaching over the table and taking Jason's nearly empty bowl away, "Hurry up and grab your backpack and coat or we're going to be late." The child got up from the table and raced into his bedroom, quickly meeting his parents by the front door with the items in tow.

Clark had just gotten Jason into his jacket when Chloe began to stir. "It's alright, I'll stay here," Lois volunteered, looking over at the couch's occupant. "Just take the express route to school, then stop back in here and we'll figure out what to do next." Jason squealed with delight at the mention of the 'express route'.

Clark eyed his wife, then his friend and lastly his son before staring back at his wife again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure, now go or else we'll all be REALLY late."

He opened the door and ushered Jason out. "We're going then, see you in two minutes…"

She waddled past the sofa, draping her coat on the back of the recliner before perching on the edge of the seat. Chloe's eyes popped open at Lois' muffled "oompf".

"How are you feeling?"

"Like two dust bunnies crawled in my mouth and multiplied…" she groaned, sitting up slowly. Her hand went immediately to her head and her sleep tousled hair. "Ugh…did I get hit by a Mac truck last night too?"

"No, but I'm betting you're going to wish you had been," Lois replied, holding out the glass of water for her. Chloe downed it in one gulp and thought over the previous night's events, never once regretting sharing her family history with Jim, only feeling sorry for her less than stellar conduct afterward.

"Clark said that you and Jimmy were having a personal discussion when you went a little overboard with the martinis. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Chloe said with unwavering finality. _Telling Jimmy was hard enough as it was…at least he didn't say anything more than that to Lois and Clark._

"Fair enough. But I'm always here if you need to talk."

"I know." Her crazy antics in front of the Ottman the previous evening came flashing to the forefront of her mind. "Oh God—I made such a fool out of myself last night!" she said, dropping her throbbing head into her hands and wincing at the impact.

"Don't be so worried now…I don't know what happened before you got here but I'm sure it couldn't have been _that_ bad." Lois gently touched her friend's shoulder.

Clark re-entered through the front door, adjusting his suit jacket and regarding his friend with his unencumbered cobalt eyes. "How are you feeling?"

She glared at him. "Do I have to answer that?"

"That good, huh?"

She groaned in response.

"So... what's the game plan, Ladies? Shall I escort Lois to the office, then pop back over here and take you to Smallville, or should it be the other way around?"

"If you don't mind…I think I'd like to splash some cold water on my face, maybe brush my teeth first…hey, where's my luggage? Oh crap, did I leave it at the hotel?"

"No, no, Jimmy had it with him when he brought you here last night. I flew it out to your apartment after you crashed on the couch so it'd be one less thing to worry about this morning."

Chloe groaned again, more loudly than before. "Ugh…"

"What?" he asked worriedly as helped Lois back into her coat.

"Nothing, nothing. I'll just get some more water and wait right here."

Clark did his quick-change then scooped his wife up in his arms and made for the window, blowing open the latch with his breath. "Ok, I'll be right back."

* * *

Once he returned, Chloe demanded to know everything she'd said or done the previous evening after Jimmy deposited her at his door. Clark complied, giving her a brief account of her actions as they soared above the clouds.

"SEEK?" she cried out, annoyed with herself. "Where the heck did I come up with that?!"

He tilted his head, feigning indifference in mid-flight in that way that only he could . "I dunno…Jimmy always calls me CK, and you kept saying it over and over again, so maybe in your drunken head it started to sound like 'seek'."

"Oh good grief…that's it Clark, do NOT let me anywhere near any liquor ever again! And I do mean ever."

"Uh huh," he replied placatingly, scanning below the clouds to see how close to Smallville they were. "So, do you want me to drop you off at work or at your place?"

"Definitely my place—I need to shower, change and try to get rid of this hangover first. Plus, I happen to have a little pull with the boss, so I can afford to be a bit late," she chuckled at her own wit, seeing as how she _was_ 'the boss'.

Superman set her down gently on the roof of her building. "I left your luggage on the bed last night. By the way, did you paint the living room recently? Because I really like the new light blue color…"

She sighed at him exasperatedly. "Yes, I painted it…about four years ago. You know you really shouldn't be such a stranger now that you're back."

"I'll try not to be, I promise…and Chloe? You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything?"

"I know, and if I need to talk, I'll be sure to holler."

He nodded. "I just wanted to make sure. Now I have to go or I'm gonna be really late for work."

"Ok, sorry. Thanks again!" she called out to him as he took off. He waved to her before going vertical, arching towards Metropolis only when he was above the cloud cover; his sonic boom echoed in her ears and made her head throb worse than before. Chloe traipsed down the stairs, muttering under her breath about supersonic friends and their penchant for violating airspace regulations. She let herself into her apartment with a small sigh—she really was grateful to her friends—no matter how much they made her head hurt.

* * *

She glanced around her bullpen at the relative inactivity; it had been a slow news day despite her presence. With a heavy sigh, she knew what she had to do, and so picked up the phone to dial the number for a certain photographer at the _Daily Planet_.

"Hi, Jim," she said in a small voice, cutting him off before he could give his standard work greeting.

"Hey you! How are you feeling?"

"I'm better, thanks for asking. Listen, I'm going to get straight to the point to make this easier on you. Don't worry—I'll understand..."

"You'll understand what?" he asked cutting her off, confused.

"I'll understand if you don't want to see or hear from me again, given the fool I made out of myself last night. You were a complete gentleman while I was…"

"Look, you keep trying to get rid of me, and the only way you can do that at this point is by telling me that you have a criminal record or something." Jimmy chuckled until he was met by silence on the other end of the line. "Oh my God! You DO have a criminal record?!" His mouth fell open in shock…_Just __who__ have I taken up with here?!_

"Well, I _was_ going to save that for our fourth date," she admitted to him in a light tone, "Besides, I was young, and it was for the _Torch_…"

"What is that, some secret society or something?"

"More like my high school newspaper…"

"Wait a second, let me get this straight; _you_ got arrested in_ Smallville _for investigations relating to your _high school newspaper_?!"

She shrugged her shoulders, as if he could see her. "You should know by now, Jim, I don't do things half-assed."

"Apparently not! Well, in spite of your criminal record, you still won't be able to get rid of me that easily."

"Really? You mean it?" she asked, glancing wistfully at the pictures of them she'd pulled up on her computer screen. Well, what few there were that had Jimmy _in front_ of the camera at Lois and Clark's wedding

"Yes I mean it," he told her semi-exasperatedly. "You know, there are a few honest guys left in this City who do mean what they say." He paused before deciding to change the subject instead of launching into his usual tirade in defense of men in Metropolis. "So, you got back to Smallville ok?"

"Yes! Yes I did…it was no problem; Clark was able to help me get an early morning flight," _via the 'Man of Steel Express'…_she added silently.

"Well that's great! Listen, I'm sure you have a lot of work to catch up on—I know I do—so I'll call you in a day or two, ok? Thank you for letting me know that you got home ok."

"It was the least I could do after all of your help last night. Thanks again for taking care of me and being so understanding…I'll try not to be…"

"Chloe," he said quickly, cutting her off mid-self-deprecation. "Don't worry about it. I'll talk to you soon though, ok?"

"Ok. Bye Jim."


	5. Chapter 5

_**East Side Slums, **_**November 10, 1976. **_"If only we had a little extra money we could enroll him in some of those classes at the Center like Mrs. Carmichael suggested we should!"_

_"Extra money? What extra money?! We're lucky to have food on the table and a roof over our heads and, now you want extra money for classes for Leroy? There's no extra money to be had! Besides, we've got three teenage girls in the house to worry about too! We can't go playing favorites…"_

_"But Aaron, Mrs. Carmichael told us that Leroy was special but that the school wasn't equipped to teach someone with his abilities…"_

_"Then he'll just have to learn how to use his God-given gifts on his own. There's a public library just a short bus ride away, Rose, and I'll take him every weekend if he's willing to go…I'll cart home a wagonload full of books for him too if he only promises to read them. I'm sorry, Sweetheart, but a bus pass and a library card are the best we can do for him given our circumstances…"_

Leroy had fallen asleep the previous evening listening to his mother sob into his father's shoulder at the disappointing news. He hated money…not that he'd had much experience with it, but he hated the control it had over his father, his family and others like them in their neighborhood.

The day before this latest argument, Leroy had gone with his class on a trip to downtown Metropolis where they'd taken a tour of the _Daily Planet_ building. The sheer amount of activity going on in the real, live newsroom was impressive. While all of the other kids in the class were impressed by the hustle and bustle amid the smoky haze of the bullpen, all Leroy saw was the money these people had. He saw it in the crisp, black leather shoes of the city beat reporter as he rushed past the children to get to a story, in the perfectly-coiffed secretary in her fancy clothes directing phone traffic and in the tailor-made, cocoa brown suit jacket hanging off the back of a chair at a desk belonging to a reporter named Perry White. These people had money, and lots of it.

The trip didn't make Leroy want to become a journalist, but it did provide him with a glimpse of how the other half lived…how the _richer_ half lived…and it made Leroy much more _enterprising_.

* * *

_**Metropolis**_**, March 29, 2009, 12:01 PM. **The young photographer stood in the corner of a waiting room at Metropolis General his cell phone pressed to one ear and a finger jammed in the other to block out the happy chattering of friends and family. As he waited for the phone to connect, he took the opportunity to watch everyone gathered at the end of the hallway and chuckled as Perry lifted Jason up to get a good view of the City's newest arrival.

"Hello?"

"Chloe, hey, it's Jimmy," the man said happily into the phone.

"Jimmy, hi! How are you? I'm sorry I didn't get to talk on Thursday but one of my reporters quit on me and we were scrambling to meet deadline."

"Believe me, I understand, but I didn't call about that…"

"Oh? Then what did you call for? Is it because you missed me?" she asked impishly.

Before she could go any further he blurted out, "Lois had the baby!"

"WHAT?! Oh my gosh, she had the baby! And Clark didn't call me?! I can't believe him! Was it a boy or a girl? What'd they name it? Is everyone alright?"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! Let me get those one at a time! She just had the kid twenty minutes ago and you're the first one outside the hospital to find out, so give CK a break, ok?"

Chloe smiled to herself on the other end of the line, knowing that there wasn't anything she could do to her longtime friend that would even leave a scratch. "I am calm—but tell me, is it a boy or a girl?!"

"It's a girl. They named her Haley Martha…"

"Oh my God, Mrs. Kent must be so happy!"

Jimmy nodded as he leaned his back against the wall, the wide smile on his face making passers-by think he was a new father. "Yeah, she got pretty teared up about that when she found out. I only got a quick look at Haley myself—she's all round and pink and cute—and according to Clark she's perfectly healthy. How'd he put it again? 'Ten fingers, ten toes, Lois' hair and my eyes…' It's so freaky though, her eyes aren't anything like his yet…they're this insanely light blue color right now, and even the Chief says that if they were any lighter they'd be practically invisible."

Her jaw dropped in shock as she sat herself down on the sofa in her living room. "Wow…I wish I could be there to see her," she said in a voice tinged with regret. Chloe knew that all she had to do was say the word and Clark would pick her up in a matter of minutes, but today was his day to be with his family and she didn't want to tear him away from a moment of that just for her sake…even if it would only take a few minutes of his time.

"I wish you were here too," Jimmy added wistfully, "But don't worry, I plan on taking lots of pictures." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Hey, while I've got you on the line, have you heard from 'The Metropolan News Magazine' about that job? I know they called you once before but have they said anything definitive to you about the position yet?"

Her teeth clenched at the mention of the magazine. "Actually, they did. I think that jerk who interviewed me, Ryan Ringgold—remember, the one that was married that asked me out? Well, I think he screwed me over because they called and told me they'd gone with somebody else. It was my old college buddy, Arthur Cheswick, who let me down, and he sounded like he was disappointed in me—like I wasted the company's time and money by having _them_ fly me out for the interview. I could KILL Ringgold, but I've got no evidence to prove that he came on to me. Besides, it'd all be 'he said, she said' in the end…" she lamented, sighing. Jimmy frowned from his post. "Anyway, it looks like he found somebody to sleep with him after all; they must have filled the spot since they aren't advertising for it anymore. Guess I'll just have to keep looking."

He could hear the frustration in her voice and felt badly for her, knowing how much she wanted to move back to the city. "Chloe, don't give up. I mean, we're making this long distance thing work so far, right?"

"Right." She wondered where he was going with this line of questioning.

"And you said you would have had to work under that Ringgold creep if they hired you, right?"

"Riiiight…"

"So that means this is a positive thing, not a negative. You just have to wait for the right opportunity and that apparently wasn't it. Besides, you're a great reporter and editor and they're crazy for letting you slip away. When one of their rivals scoops you up, those people at the 'Metropolan' will stand up and take notice because you'll show them exactly what they lost out on."

Chloe smiled in spite of herself. "Thanks, Jimmy…I guess I just needed to hear somebody else say it."

"Hey, what are good boyfriends for?" he replied with an ever-widening grin.

"Olsen!" Perry stuck his head into the waiting room and gestured for the young man to join him. "We're going to lunch, my treat! Now shake the lead out!"

"Uh, c-coming Chief! Listen, Chloe, I have to go…"

"I understand. Tell Haley her Auntie Chloe says 'Hi', ok?"

"I will."

"And tell Lois and Clark that I said congratulations, and have Clark call me when he gets a chance, will you?"

"Uh huh, will do. Love you, gotta go…" and with that he abruptly hung up the phone.

Chloe stared at the blinking display on her cell phone as the call ended, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. _Did he just say…?_

_…Oh my God did I just tell her I loved her?_ Jimmy wondered as he dashed down the hall. _Holy crap I think I did! Oh my God…not that I haven't thought about telling her a hundred times, I just never thought that it would come out like that…and we've only been out on what, two or three 'real' dates? Stupid, Olsen! Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

* * *

_**Metropolis**_**, March 30, 2009. **Clark sighed and scrutinized his surroundings. His mother and his in-laws had finally gone back to their own quarters for some rest when they learned that the hospital wouldn't be discharging Lois and the baby until the following day. The doctor at Metropolis General noted that Haley was running a bit of a fever and feared she was fighting off an infection, while Lois, Martha and Clark knew it was just her natural Kryptonian body heat coming through. They allowed the doctors to keep her overnight for observation, knowing they had nothing to fear. His in-laws were a little worried about their daughter and granddaughter's overly-long hospital stay, but Clark knew that all would be well and that he just had to bide his time until he could bring both of his girls home safe and sound.

The apartment he would be bringing them home to, however, looked as if a bomb had gone off; empty take-out food containers littered the counter, his and Jason's clothes and shoes were strewn about, half-opened baby gifts were piled on the kitchen table and three large fruit baskets stood on the floor by the front door. He heaved another sigh and set to work, rubbing his hands together before zipping about the living room, dining room and kitchen to tidy up. Not even a minute later, the place was ship-shape once again; Jason sat in his bedroom none the wiser, coloring pictures for his new little sister.

A self-satisfied smile crossed Clark's face as he flopped on the sofa, one long leg dangling over the arm, cordless phone in hand, and dialed Chloe's number.

"_Smallville Tribune_, Chloe Sullivan speaking."

He couldn't help himself, and switched to a twangy accent reminiscent of their high school history teacher, Mr. Robards. "Yes Ma'am, I'm callin' about an ex-po-sé I want you to write on the low quality horse feed they're sellin' at the…"

"Give it up, Clark, I know it's you," she informed him, giving a slight chuckle as she shifted the phone on her shoulder so she could scoop up some paperwork.

He smirked. "What gave me away?"

"Your use of the word exposé; nobody around here would even know what that means, much less actually use it in a sentence."

"Playing to stereotypes much?"

"Hey! You haven't been living in farm country for the last ten years otherwise you'd know I'm right. Now quit goofing around and tell me all about my new niece!" she exclaimed excitedly.

Clark grinned like a fool at the mention of his daughter. "Oh my gosh, Chloe, she's perfect—she and Jason both, they're perfect, they're little miracles. I can't believe I'm a father again…and this time I've known about it for six months!"

"Well, from what I hear, nothing can prepare you for parenthood, not even six months of planning. Jimmy emailed some of the pictures he took of Haley, and oh my God, her eyes are just…"

"I know, right?! I'm sure they'll darken—hopefully turn Jason's color—but every time I look into them I drown…they're endless! And I never want to put her down…Lois says that if I'm not careful, I'm going to spoil her rotten."

He continued swooning over his baby girl on the other end of the line and it made Chloe smile wistfully. "So, when are they coming home?"

"Tomorrow. It would have been today but the doctor says that Haley's got a fever, so they're keeping her and Lois one more day for observation."

"You mean you didn't want to tell them that she's half-Kryptonian and therefore prone to a naturally higher body temperature then the rest of us mortals?"

"Umm, no, definitely not." His friend laughed at his response. "And Lois thinks _I'm_ the wise-ass." He got up to get a glass of water. "So…how are things with you and Jimmy?"

"Oh, you know…" she replied flippantly, trying to brush him off.

"No, I don't know, hence why I'm asking…come on, Chloe, you can't blow me off that easily. I am a reporter you know."

"I know, but you're also his friend and I don't want things to get awkward for you guys if things don't work out between us."

Clark furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I thought I was your friend too."

She stopped mid-shuffle. "You are."

"And I thought things were alright with you two. At least, Jimmy seems to think so."

"They are!" she said quickly, reassuring herself as much as Clark. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Just…" she paused and bit her lip, wondering whether or not to continue. With Lois out of commission for several days and Lana not knowing Jimmy, Chloe knew she didn't have anyone else to turn to for advice, so she finally told Clark what was on her mind. "Jimmy told me he loved me yesterday when he called from the hospital. It was weird, and kind of rushed since your boss was yelling at him and all, and I'm not sure if he even meant to say it, because we've only really been dating for what, a month and a half? Well, I mean, we were talking long before that but the dating thing didn't happen until February, and he's a great guy and all, but I'm just not sure I feel the same way yet; not to mention that I don't want things to get really awkward if I don't tell him I love him, and…" she said rapidly, making her friend's head spin.

"Hey hey, slow down and take a breath! I may move at the speed of light but my ability to listen and comprehend function at normal human speeds!" he chuckled at her nervousness, which helped allay her anxiety somewhat. "So… Jimmy told you he loved you?" _Man, I knew he was head over heels for her, but love? So soon? Not that I'm one to talk…_

"Yeah, but you know, I think it was one of those things a person unintentionally blurts out at the end of a phone call. And like I said, he was rushed." She blushed on the other end of the line, thinking about how ridiculous she must sound, especially to Clark…_I can't believe I'm sharing this with him, of all people…_Her cheeks flushed even redder.

"Well how'd he say it then?"

Chloe thought back to the previous day's conversation, "I told him to tell you and Lois congratulations from me, to which he said," she dropped her voice in an imitation of her boyfriend, "'Uh huh, will do. Love you gotta go.' And that was that."

Clark mulled it over a minute, testing the phrase on his own tongue and wondering how it would have sounded if he had said it to Lois back when he was 'just Clark' to her. "Honestly, Chloe? I can't tell. I think you're better off calling him up yourself and just ask him what he really meant by it. It's the only way you're ever going to know for sure otherwise you'll just drive yourself crazy in the meantime speculating."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. _Is it too much to hope for an easy answer?_ Deep down however, she knew there wasn't one to be had. "I know, you're right. I'll do it…after I get these layouts finished. Promise."

Clark shook his head on the other end of the line…_She must really like him, because the Chloe I know would never put off something like this. _"Ok, if that's how you feel, then wait…just don't wait too long. Oh, and Chloe?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry you couldn't be here for Haley's birth, but do you think you could take a day or two off sometime late next month? I know Lois would love to see you and I'd be happy to fly you out here once things settle down a bit…"

"Aww, thank you! But before I say yes, are you sure? I mean, I really want to see Lois and the baby, but I don't want to inconvenience you guys or anything, not to mention I wasn't the _greatest_ house guest last time…"

"Nonsense; I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure. So... is that a yes?"

"Yes that's a yes! I'll let you know when I can get the time off, ok?"

Jason came dashing out of his bedroom then, holding up some pictures for inspection and tugging impatiently on his Dad's pant leg. "Absolutely. Hey I gotta go, Jason needs me."

"That's fine, Clark, just don't rush off the line telling me you love me too," she said sarcastically.

"Aww, you know I love you like a sister…an unruly sister who happens to get into more than her fair share of trouble from time to time…"

"Har har, very funny you…bye now!"

"Bye!"

Chloe stared at the phone as the line went dead, then at the small picture of her and Jimmy she kept on the desk, and finally the half-empty layouts beside her. Letting loose a small sigh, she chose the lesser of the two evils, spreading the foam board out before her to piece together articles and advertisements like some over-sized puzzle.

_Why must things always be so complicated…_she thought as she swapped one ad out for another, not bothering to identify what 'things' she was referring to: the pieces of paper before her or her long distance romance.


	6. Chapter 6

_**East Side Slums, **_**February 23, 1977. **"Hello, Little Leroy!" Mr. Luciano called out in his heavy Italian-accented English. His broad arms rested behind the counter as the boy entered the store and made straight for the candy section. "Got the sweet tooth again I see?" The little boy smiled a tight smile and nodded at the man, then turned his attention to the treats before him.

Pasquale watched the child with amusement; it had been the same way every four days for the last several months, without fail. He had a suspicion as to what the boy was really up to, seeing as how he bought so much candy without ever gaining an ounce of weight, but he pretended to stay aloof; _after all, why ruin the little boy's chance for some pocket money?_

He couldn't help but note that for such a young child, Leroy Russell seemed to work and move with an almost military-like precision. First he would scan the rack of chocolate bars, selecting anywhere from four to eight of whatever had most recently been restocked, then he would move over to the packages of bubble gum and select an assortment of cinnamon, peppermint and original flavored gums for purchase. Today he approached the register with six chocolate bars and eight packages of gum in his hands.

"Let me see, let me see," Pasquale said, counting up the total on a piece of scrap paper that he kept handy. "That will be two dollars and forty cents please, Little Leroy." But today the boy shook his head, no, and he would not take the money out of his pocket. "What is the matter, why you not pay today?" the store owner asked with a small frown.

"The chocolates cost twenty-five cents apiece, and the gum costs ten cents apiece, so it's two dollars and _thirty_ cents, Sir, not two dollars and forty cents."

Pasquale scratched the top of his thick dark head of hair and went over his tally again. Sure enough, the boy was right. "You are very good with numbers, yes?" The child shook his head in the affirmative. "I think in a few years, when you need job, you come see me, ok? You better at this then my boy, Marco, that's for sure." The boy simply nodded again as he slid the coins across the counter; the child was always exact, never giving a penny more or less then what was owed. He took his small brown bag of sweets off the counter and made a move toward the door, stopping and testing the handle of the gumball machine. It was the only treat the store owner ever saw Leroy buy for himself, and he sighed in regret as the handle refused to budge under the little boy's grasp. It had been broken for five weeks now.

"I'm sorry, but Paolo has not found the part to fix it yet. Soon it will get fixed, soon, and then you get first treat."

Leroy smiled that odd tight smile of his and exited the store, his candy bag tucked safely under one arm.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, April 2, 2009. **Jimmy sat at his desk, anxiously tapping a pencil against the tabletop. Things were too quiet around the bullpen, what with Lois on maternity leave and Clark taking two weeks off to spend with the newest addition to their family. The young photographer realized that he missed the life and excitement the pair usually brought into the bullpen. Oh sure, Rose was still stirring up trouble with her gossip, the Chief continued ranting and raving at the staff from his office door, not to mention there was Gil's work-induced narcolepsy which they could all count on for a laugh, but the place just wasn't the same without the Kents; it felt less like home and more like…work.

There was another dilemma weighing heavily on his mind just then, one more oppressive than the atmosphere of his work space, and that was the problem of his girlfriend.

_I called her on Sunday._

_I told her I loved her._

_It's now, _he glanced down at the watch on his wrist, _4:17 pm on Thursday. I've screwed this up royally and scared her off, how the heck am I going to fix this?!_

He sighed loudly and rested his chin on his palm, the tapping of his pencil never ceasing its relentless cadence. Across the aisle, Ralph shot Jimmy an annoyed look, but the young man was far too absorbed in his thoughts to care. _Should I call her? But what would I say? No…no, I shouldn't call her. The ball's in her court now, right? Isn't that how the game is played in the 21__st__ century? Heck if I know…if CK were here he'd know what to do…maybe I should call him? Wait, no, bad idea, they just brought the baby home yesterday…Ugh!! What am I gonna do?!_

Jimmy leapt out of his seat in surprise as the phone on his desk shrilled loudly, sending the pencil flying. It rolled under the desk and was promptly forgotten.

"_Daily Planet_, James Olsen speaking."

"Jimmy?" a woman's voice asked nervously on the other end of the line.

"Chloe?" He let out a deep, silent sigh of relief, glad that she had taken the initiative to call him. _Wait, that doesn't mean I'm off the hook yet…what if she's breaking up with me? Oh crap…_

"Hi, um, yeah, it's me. I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I? I mean, do you have a few minutes to talk?"

Jimmy sat up straight, craning his head much like a prairie dog as he eyed the bullpen. He gulped audibly when he caught the Chief standing behind the glass door in his office, wagging his finger in warning, and he visibly relaxed when he realized that Gil was the target of their boss' ire this time. Jim scooted his rolling chair closer to his desk. "No, I'm free. Listen, I'm glad you called…"

She interrupted him before he could launch into his explanation. "I know, and I'm sorry I didn't call you back after Sunday, but I needed some time to think about what you said…"

"I didn't mean it," he blurted out, hoping to head her off before she broke up with him.

_That was not what I was expecting…_Chloe thought dumbly as she stared out her office window at Main Street in Smallville. She quickly found her voice, "What?"

"Um, what I meant was…" he tugged anxiously at his collar; the bow tie felt as if it were choking him. "When I told you..." he lowered his voice once he made sure no one was listening in, "When I said what I did on Sunday, I meant it but I didn't mean it." He paused again, waiting for a response from her and finding none. "Does that make sense?"

She furrowed her brow in cute confusion and swiveled back around to her desk, lightly touching his beaming face where it greeted her from behind its glass picture frame on the tabletop. "Um no, not really. No."

Jim collected his thoughts before trying again, deciding to take a direct approach… _Why lie to her if I want to be with her? That's the worst way to build a relationship; I may not have had much experience, but I know that much for sure._ "Chloe, I care for you—a lot. I know we've only been out on three dates and, if it weren't for the miles between us, I'd take you out on three hundred more. The point I'm trying to make here is that you're the first girl I've felt this way about in a really, really long time. But when I told you I loved you on Sunday…" he bit his lower lip, wishing he knew of a way to make what he was going to say seem less harsh. "I said it in the heat of the moment. I feel that, given more time, what we have together could be love; that's what I meant when I told you just now that I meant it but didn't mean it." He sadly resigned himself to the fact that she would never want to see him again; it was with bated breath that he waited for her to tell him their relationship was over, as politely as possible of course, before hanging up.

She surprised him. "Jimmy, listen, I'm glad you said something because I've been a coward about this whole thing and avoiding you all week because I didn't want to have to tell you that I didn't…feel that…way about you. Yet! I meant to say yet!" _I am 'Chloe the conundrum'! _she thought self-deprecatingly, _All business and bravado one minute, then Bam! a rambling, mumbling, lovesick schoolgirl the next. No wonder I can't keep a boyfriend! _Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she finished, "I agree with what you said; I think that given more time, and several more dates, what we have could become…_something_ more… but I put off calling you because I was afraid that if I didn't say it back to you now that you'd end what we have before it even had a chance to begin. And I didn't want to risk that happening, Jimmy, because that's not what I want at all."

He slouched over his desk, leaning against the cool wood in relief, silently muttering a prayer of thanks. "That's not what I want either. I want to be with you, get to know you some more, and then…" Jimmy stopped himself then, realizing that he was about to say it again.

"And then we'll see where it goes," she quickly finished for him, not giving him another chance to use the 'L-word' which she knew was dancing on the tip of his tongue. "And I'm sorry I keep screwing things up; I should have called you sooner but I just chickened out."

"Will you stop that?" he quietly admonished her. "You're NOT screwing things up, I'M screwing things up! Besides, it wouldn't be a relationship if it weren't a little bit messy…"

"You're right, I just feel like…"

"Stop."

"But you won't even…"

"Nope."

"So I can't …?"

"Uh uh."

She stopped talking on the other end of the line and they shared an uncomfortable moment of silence. "You're one tough talker when you want to be, aren't you?" she asked him coyly.

"Yep, but only when I know that there's 2,000 plus miles between us," he said lightheartedly, grinning on the other end of the line.

"Ok then, good to know—perhaps I've finally met my match…"

Jimmy's smile broadened alarmingly wide at hearing her call them a 'match'. "So…any chance you'll be in Metropolis again anytime soon?" he asked, trying to be sly about the subject change. He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

Chloe perked up. "Yeah, actually, in about a month or so. Clark said he'd…" _fly me out there, _she thought, stopping herself from saying the words aloud and bringing undue suspicion upon her tall friend. _How could I have been so careless?! This is Clark's co-worker for crying out loud?! If he knew…I have GOT to be more careful!_

"Chloe, you still there?" Jimmy asked, shaking the phone to see if the line had gone dead.

She shook herself out of it. "I'm still here, sorry, I just got distracted. Clark said he and Lois would like to have me up at the end of the month to meet Haley, so I'll be staying with them for a few days at the end of April or beginning of May, whenever I can get the time off."

"That's great! You know, if you don't feel comfortable staying over there, you could always crash at my place," he said. She raised an eyebrow at the phone suspiciously even though he couldn't see her. He grew alarmed by her overly long silence when he realized _just what_ it was that he had said. "No! Not like that!" he hastened to add. "I meant you could have my bed and I'd sleep on the couch…at least my place is baby-free, you know? No screaming, early morning wake-up calls or anything like that," he chuckled nervously, trying to smooth over his second faux pas of the week.

"I knew what you meant," she said affectionately, trying to make the situation less-awkward. Changing tactics, she flirted lightly, "By the way, have I told you lately how much I miss you?"

Jimmy gulped audibly and his cheeks flushed bright red; he couldn't remember the last time someone told him that they missed him, excluding his mother, of course. "N-n-no…no, you haven't."

"Well…there must be a reason."

"Maybe it's because I haven't told you how much I miss you?"

She let a genuine smile cross her face until she caught young Andrews spying on her through the window. The young man wore a look of shock at the prospect that his usually dour boss knew how to smile. She frowned at him then and he turned to go back to work, falling out of his chair in a way that was oddly reminiscent of Clark. She paused momentarily in her intimidation of the poor hapless reporter to tease her boyfriend. "That might be it, yes…"

Jimmy happened to be looking towards the elevator bay when Clark strode in, glasses askew and hair flying, papers in hand. "Hey, Chloe, I'll call you later ok?"

"Sure, why, did a big story just break?" she asked intrigued, missing the adrenaline rush of a real bullpen.

"No…" he stared distractedly at the tall man's figure as he tried to dodge the well-wishers, mumbling moodily at them, all the while trying to reach his desk. Jimmy could tell by the way his friend had straightened his posture and furrowed his brows that something was up. "Clark just walked in."

"Clark? In the bullpen? But shouldn't he be at home with Lois and the baby? What the heck is he doing back at work?" she clucked like a mother hen, wondering if and when her friend would ever take a break, from _either_ of his jobs.

"That's what I intend to find out. I'll let you know later, ok? I miss you…"

"Miss you too, bye!"

"Bye!"

* * *

"Kent!! This better be your idea of a joke or so help me I'm gonna escort you off the premises myself and tell security not to let you back up here for a week and a half!" he roared. Sidling up to the new father's desk, he leaned over his shoulder and added quietly, "It's not everyday I order one of my best reporters to take two weeks vacation either, though I'd hardly call taking care of a newborn a vacation. Now what's going on, why the hell are you back here?"

Jimmy studied Clark's face closely as his friend handed their Boss his notes. Whatever the news was that brought him back to the bullpen it had disconcerted him greatly. "Chief, I was stepping out to the corner store to pick up some more formula for the baby when I saw Superman touch down in one of the alleyways nearby. I followed after him—you know, to see if he needed help or anything—and came upon him as he uncovered a dead body. He said he'd heard a watch ticking but that its owner appeared to have been dead for some time. I was able to take a few pictures with my camera phone and get some quotes from Superman before the authorities came in." He brought the images up on his computer screen and let Jimmy sit down so he could peruse them.

"Good job, now go home."

"No, I can't, not yet."

Both Perry and Jimmy were thrown by Clark's sudden boldness. "Is the kid driving you crazy already, Kent?"

The young father's eyes went wide behind the thick frames of his glasses. "No, Sir! It's nothing like that, I love Haley, it's just…well, I can't believe that this happened in MY neighborhood! You know Lois and I only live fifteen minutes from the _Planet_, Perry; it's a good neighborhood, we walk by that alleyway every other day! We even take Jason down to that corner market sometimes to buy comic books! I've got to help track down whoever did this!"

Perry put a hand on Clark's shoulder. "Son, I know you're concerned, but there's not much else you can do here. The best thing you can do is go home to your family and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. I'll pass the story on to Gil for tomorrow's edition and you'll share the by-line." The older man sighed heavily when he realized that his reporter wasn't going to leave without a fight. "Look, I know that this has you spooked Kent, but there isn't anything else you can do, now go home." Clark was about to give in when Jimmy piped up.

"Hey, Chief! You might want to take a look at this…"

The murdered man had been found slumped amongst a few garbage pails, his expensive suit and shirt ripped wide open to expose his torso. The victim seemed to be in his late-twenties or early-thirties, with light brown hair and an athletic build. Jimmy drew their attention to a close up of the man's upper body; a large, bloody 'X' had been carved into his chest just above his heart.

Clark had x-rayed the wound on-site, and discovered that the injury was not the cause of death, indicating that the man had been killed in some other manner. He had also noted that the blood had begun to clot around the wound, meaning that the victim was still alive when he was being butchered. Clark shuddered at the thought, recalling pain like that all too well.

Jimmy spoke up again. "Doesn't this look like the same mark they found on that guy on Sunday afternoon?"

"What guy on Sunday afternoon?"

Perry turned to face Clark with an annoyed expression fixed on his face, until he remembered that his ace reporters had been at the hospital having a baby that day. "The police found another man with similar markings around 4 on Sunday afternoon, over by 7th Avenue," he scrutinized the markings some more, squinting. "I think you're right, Jimmy, these appear to be the same." The two younger men looked at one another, deeply troubled by the implication.

"Well, Gentlemen, it looks like we just might have a serial killer loose in Metropolis."


	7. Chapter 7

_**East Side Slums, **_**March 29, 1977. **"Leroy!! I want to see you in your room, _right now_!!" Aaron shouted for his only son. The skinny child sauntered into the bedroom he shared with his sister Penny quickly and quietly, his hazel eyes darting back and forth as he entered to see what might be amiss and provoking his father's ire; and then he spotted it.

His father had Leroy's shoe box with his good dress shoes sitting on his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The boy drew closer.

"Care to explain this?" he asked, pulling the lid back dramatically. Wedged in amongst the child-sized black dress shoes were carefully rolled packages of pennies, nickels and dimes.

Leroy's eyes went wide. "How did you find it?" he squeaked.

"Never mind how I found it now answer the question. How did you get all this money? Is this other kids' milk money that you stole?" his father asked in barely-controlled anger. He had struggled everyday to set a good example for his son, and he thought he'd raised him _not_ to be a bully.

"I didn't _steal anything_!" Leroy shouted back incredulously.

Aaron pinched his lips together and nodded to himself, then put the lid on the box and patted at the space next to him on the bed. Leroy sat down. "Ok, I believe you. But if you didn't steal this money then how did you come by it?"

The little boy shrugged his shoulders before replying quietly, "I sell candy."

His brows knit together in confusion. "You sell candy? To who?"

"To kids at school, on the playground during recess."

"You mean to tell me that you made all this money selling candy at school? All of it?"

Leroy turned to look his father straight in the eye. "Uh huh."

"And the school doesn't know?" Aaron watched as his son simply shrugged his shoulders. "You haven't been beat up by the bigger kids for having all this money and candy on you, have you?"

"No, Sir."

"Now how have you managed that?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders once more before responding. "I just keep kind of quiet, I guess. Only the kids that really want the candy know that I have it to sell, and they aren't telling anybody else because then that means that if more people know then more people might buy and I might not have enough candy for them someday. And even though it costs a little bit more than at Mr. Luciano's store, they still buy it because they want it."

Aaron studied his brilliant boy with a curious look on his face. "Leroy, do you know about supply and demand?" The child nodded his head vigorously. "And did you learn about it in school?"

"Nooooo, I read about it in a book from the library." Leroy watched as his father let loose a half-hearted chuckle.

"That's my boy…" he said, tousling his son's hair as he handed him back the shoe box and got up to leave the room. "Just be sure and be careful, ok? If you start having problems with bullies because of this, I want to know. And _don't _let me catch you with it interfering with your schoolwork." His son nodded in assent and quickly scrambled to bury the box back under his bed.

A few minutes later, Aaron walked into his own bedroom where his wife was busy folding clean laundry and putting it away in a chest of drawers. "So?" she asked, glancing up from her task to look at her husband.

"Those shoes are a child's size eight, and by the looks of them I'd say they still have a lot of wear left. Besides, he hasn't grown much, so I doubt he really needs a new pair of dress shoes for his birthday."

Rose leaned over and kissed her husband on the lips. "Ok, if you say so," she replied as they parted, returning to the task at hand.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**April 2, 2009. **Clark returned home with the baby formula, looking very pensive. He explained away his absence to Lois, his mother, and his in-laws by saying that he'd stopped in at the _Planet _to show everyone some pictures…_it's not really lying so much as omitting certain facts…like just what __kind__ of pictures I was sharing_, he argued with himself. Before he could dwell on the thought any longer, Lois slipped the baby into his arms so that she could shower, and he got lost in Haley's enchanting eyes. Already their color was beginning to darken, yet they still seemed endless; right now, they were staring straight into her father's gaze and penetrating deep into his soul.

Ella and Sam were impressed with how easily their son-in-law held his newborn daughter, recalling how awkwardly Richard held Jason in those first few days. Clark tried not to think about the other man and the pain he still felt for missing Jason's birth; instead, he focused solely on Haley—how one little girl could turn the Man of Steel into a man of Jell-o with one flick of her eyes was a mystery that continually astounded him.

Martha watched her son standing before her, cradling his daughter in his arms, and wistfully thought back to a time when her own husband had held their baby girl in a similar pose. The only difference was that there was no heartache here today, as Haley proved to be a stronger, healthier child than her late-Aunt Mary had been. Clark looked up from his daughter's face at the sound of his mother's accelerating heartbeat; he didn't have to guess the reason for the tear he saw sliding down her cheek.

"Would you like to hold her, Mom? I mean, I need to fix Jason a snack…" he said, offering up the flimsy excuse for the seemingly abrupt relinquishing of his child. The woman could only nod, and quickly re-situated herself in the armchair as he placed the baby in her arms. A long look passed between them then as they watched Haley laying there, quietly surveying the world around her with big eyes; her wondrous presence made mother and son both smile a little wider.

Clark collected Jason and retreated to the kitchen, leaving the three remaining adults to talk amongst themselves. Thoughts of the serial killer flitted through his mind as he stood side-by-side with his son, spreading peanut butter along stalks of celery before Jason eagerly placed the raisin 'ants' on the 'logs'. The young boy remained oblivious to the dark workings of his father's mind and chattered happily about his day.

The man gripped the knife in his hand a little tighter, unconsciously bending the metal, as he wondered how a killer could be loose right in his own neighborhood without him noticing anything. Clark mentally berated himself, _I know I've been preoccupied this past week, but have I been so distracted as to let a killer get away with murder under my very nose? I've got to put an end to this fast, before Lois discovers what's been going on in our front yard…_

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**April 12, 2009. **His two weeks 'vacation' with his growing family ended all too quickly, and Clark soon found himself sitting on the edge of the bed the night before his first day back at the _Daily_ _Planet_. He absent-mindedly pulled off one of his shiny red boots as he mulled over the happenings of the past weeks.

Keeping Lois oblivious to the killer's presence was easier than he had thought it would be; she was so wrapped up in caring for their newborn _and_ their seven year old that she barely had time to watch the news on television, let alone read the newspaper. As such, she missed the by-line that Clark shared with Gil, despite the fact that the article had been above the fold on the front page of the April 3rd edition.

In-between his duties as a husband and father, and in addition to his usual Superman-ly aid, Clark used every spare moment he had to keep an eye and ear out for the killer. Jimmy had called on the 10th to say that another body had been found; the young man had been discovered tossed amongst the garbage in an alleyway off of Haviland Street. The victim had an 'X' carved into his chest in keeping with the killer's _modus operandi_; based upon the blood clots, the killer started with the 'X' to brand them. Ligature marks found on the victims' wrists and ankles led investigators to believe they were tied up during the torture and strangled to death prior to being dumped

_How do I keep missing them?_ he asked himself as he pulled off the second boot and began unhooking his cape. _How are these three men connected? Did they know one another socially? Did they work together? Besides being young professionals, what else did they have in common? _Clark wracked his brain for an answer as he draped the cape over a nearby chair. _And more importantly, how does the killer lure them away without rousing suspicions?_

Lois stirred in her sleep and eyed her husband's muscular back as he stood by their bed wearing nothing but the blue spandex portion of the suit. "Need a little help there?" she asked sleepily.

He turned to face her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, I was just…"

"Lost in thought? It's ok. You didn't wake me, it's almost time for Haley's feeding anyway," she informed him, pulling herself partially upright in bed, yawning. "Care to tell me what's on your mind? You've been a little distant lately, and I wasn't sure if it was the baby or…"

"It has nothing to do with our family… _nothing_," he interjected quickly, sitting down beside her and placing his warm hand over hers. "I've loved spending the past two weeks with you, watching our little girl grow, seeing Jason adjust to being a big brother, watching you hold our daughter…" A smile graced his full lips as an image of Lois rocking Haley to sleep came to his mind's eye.

"Then what has got you so preoccupied lately? You honestly can't believe that I haven't noticed that _something_ is wrong."

He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I'm that transparent, huh?" She nodded. "I didn't tell you before, because I didn't want you to worry…" he watched her chest still as her breath caught in her throat, her calm and cool demeanor never wavering. "You do realize that I can hear you holding your breath, right? See? This is why I didn't want to tell you, I didn't want you to panic…"

"I'm not _panicking_," she said a little irately. "I'm bracing myself for whatever it is you have to tell me."

"I found a dead body near Asbury's Market ten days ago," he blurted, not bothering to sugar-coat the information for her. Her eyes went wide as he hastened to explain. "He'd been dumped there by a killer; a serial killer, we now have reason to believe. The first victim was found the day Haley was born, and Jimmy called me on Friday to say another one had been found off of Havilland Street."

"And you're sure they're connected?" she asked, now fully awake, her reporter's instincts were taking over.

He nodded. "All three were dressed similarly, and they were…well, I guess the best way to put it is that they were branded."

Lois scrunched her face up at the term. "Branded? How?"

"Each victim had an 'X' carved into his chest over the heart. And Lois? Those wounds were pre-mortem."

"Oh my God…and you haven't…?"

"Nope, not a thing. It's not for a lack of trying either, it's just..." he trailed off, shrugging.

Lois pulled herself up onto her knees behind her husband and began trying to rub the tension out of his expansive shoulders. Her ministrations became easier when he melted at her touch, making his muscles more pliable. He moaned quietly as the stress of the past few weeks dissolved under her tiny fingers.

"I wish you'd told me sooner, I could've been able to help out."

He shrugged, interrupting her backrub. "I know, but I didn't want you to worry; besides, you already had so much on your plate with Haley and Jason and our parents and all…"

"Hey now—just because I'm a new mother again doesn't mean I'm no longer your wife. We should be able to talk about these things, ok?" she informed him, reminding him eerily of Perry.

He smiled in spite of himself at her tone. "Yes, Chief."

Lois gave his shoulders an extra hard pinch before slipping back under the covers. "Very funny…now come to bed; it's _freezing_ in here without you." She explained, slipping back under the covers for five more minutes of rest before feeding the baby.

"You don't have to tell me twice," he said, leaping up from the bed, quickly spinning out of the spandex and into his blue plaid lounge pants and gray t-shirt. He slid beneath the duvet, the bed dipping with his considerable weight, and wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. Clark felt freer than he had in weeks, as if a burden had been lifted; even if the killer hadn't yet been caught, he could at least now vent his frustrations to Lois, his wife, confidante and best friend.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**April 13, 2009. **_It wouldn't do to be late on my first day back, _Clark thought as he pushed through the revolving doors at the entrance of the _Daily Planet_ twenty minutes early. He smiled to himself as the elevator doors opened to admit him; he was glad to be nestled back amongst his second family, even though he ached to have Lois standing by his side, muttering sullenly into her coffee. She had sent him off to work in stereotypical 1950's housewife fashion that morning with the warning, "Don't get too used to this" before kissing him passionately on the lips. Clark was positively glowing as she pushed him out the door; he was halfway down the hall when his sensitive hearing picked up, "And that was just to ensure that you come back!"

The ding of the elevator bell and the stampede of people brought him back to the present; he strode into the bullpen heading towards his desk with a single-minded purpose. _The quicker I get my work done, the sooner I get to go home._

"Hey, CK, welcome back!" Jimmy cried out upon seeing his friend, waving a large manila envelope like a flag. "I've got something for you!" he added, dodging people and following Clark to his desk. Clark flipped open the folder to find the pictures Jimmy had taken at the hospital the day of Haley's birth. There was a shot of Lois propped up in bed holding the new arrival, flanked by both of her boys. Behind that was one of Clark holding the baby while Jason sat on his knee peering into Haley's face; an action shot as Clark lovingly deposited his daughter into Martha's waiting arms; yet another with General Lane holding his granddaughter and beaming while his wife tried to sneak a peek over his shoulder; Jason's wide smile beamed from the next photo, a pillow propped up under his arm to help support Haley's head…dozens more followed in a variety of sizes and poses.

"Jimmy, these are…these are absolutely amazing," Clark said breathlessly, falling back into his seat as the sight of the images threatened to overwhelm him. "Thank you." One small print fell into his lap as he spoke; it was the second picture Jimmy had taken upon entering Lois' room, the shot with the proud parents, grandparents, Jason, Perry and Jimmy all gathered around the most adorable newborn in all of Metropolis. _Then again, _Clark thought as he picked the photo up off his lap,_ I am biased._ With that Clark slipped the photo into the lead and glass frame, covering a picture of Clark, Lois and Jason taken at a baseball game, seemingly ages ago. He gently set the frame down in its customary place of reverence next to his computer monitor so that he could glance at it effortlessly throughout the day. Standing up, he clapped a large hand on his friend's shoulder before pulling him in for a hug. "Thanks, Jimmy!"

"Anytime, CK…anytime."

"Sherach! Kent! Olsen! Get in here! Now!" Perry bellowed from the doorway; he stormed back into his office, not bothering to watch as three grown men fell over themselves in their scramble to collect their notepads.

The Editor-in-Chief of the greatest newspaper in all of Metropolis cut an imposing figure where he stood with his arms crossed silhouetted in the window. He was staring at the building across the street when Gil, Clark and Jimmy shuffled in. Perry let them take their seats before turning around and unleashing his wrath in a thunderous roar.

"Sherach, you're off the Ladykiller Killer story!! Dammit man, how many times did I tell you to withhold the information about the 'branding'?! And yet you went behind my back and snuck it into the final copy anyway! Legal is calling me every five minutes, did you know that?! The Chief of Police wants blood!" Perry leaned menacingly over his desk, spittle flying into Gil's face. "And you know what?! You know what I'm going to do when Chief McEachern storms in here with guns blazing?! I'm going to point him STRAIGHT TO YOU!!" he screamed, banging a fist on his own workspace to emphasize the extent of his anger.

Clark leaned over in his seat as Perry roared, and whispered, "The Ladykiller Killer?"

"Yeah," Jimmy whispered back, "Turns out so far, the only thing the victims all had in common was their penchant for picking up women and bragging about it to their buddies. The Chief came up with the name."

"Ahh…"

Gil was now spluttering an explanation from where he cowered in his seat. "B-b-but, Chief, the p-public has a right to know! The killer's targeting young m-men and then they…"

Perry leaned over his desk, still fuming, "And what?! You think you're gonna be the next victim?! Fat chance! Now get out of my office—you're my new copy boy until further notice, and if I even hear one gripe about it I am going to FIRE your ass SO FAST…!" But Gil didn't need to hear anymore, he bolted out of the office as if Perry had literally struck a match under him.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he turned to the remaining two men in the room, "Now, you two…first off, welcome back, Kent. Hope things are going well at home."

"They are, Sir, thanks for asking…"

Perry didn't wait for him to finish before interjecting, "I only wish Lois were back as well to offer her insight into all this, but I think you'll manage just fine on your own. And Olsen, I want you to help him out with research and fieldwork on this; there's absolutely no way I'm sending you out on this assignment alone given your little disappearing act last time, Kent…" Clark winced at the inadvertent mention of his imprisonment, even though neither of the other men in the room knew the full story behind his seven month long absence. His hands trembled slightly on his knees; only Jimmy noticed his weakness as Perry carried on about the assignment. "Maybe the M.P.D. will be gracious enough to let you back in on the investigation even after Sherach bungled everything up…see if you two can't bring me back something worthy of the _Planet_ banner, you got it?"

"Yes, Chief."

"Absolutely, Perry, we'll get right on it."

"Good, now get…" but the two men had already taken their leave before he could even finish his sentence.


	8. Chapter 8

_**East Side Slums, **_**May 16, 1981. **Aaron sat on the sofa in the living room that Saturday; his three and a half year old grandson, Anthony, sat at the coffee table, coloring a picture on a blank piece of paper with Leroy's old crayons. Rose and Renee sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and chatting. Fourteen year old Leroy walked in then, sweat dripping from his hair, holding a well-worn basketball at his hip.

"UNCLE!" the little boy shrieked in joy, running towards the teenager and wrapping his tiny arms around the young man's sweaty knees. The occupants of the apartment couldn't help but grin at the little boy's antics; when he was learning to talk, Anthony could never properly pronounce Leroy's name. To this day, he refused to call Leroy anything but 'Uncle'. Aaron noticed that some of his son's friends as well as the neighbors in their building had started calling him by this nickname, but it all started with little Anthony.

Leroy was 5'8", incredibly skinny and still growing; what little weight he did manage to put on was all muscle, his current obsession with basketball keeping him lithe and sinewy. He stretched out a wide hand and palmed his nephew's head, forcing the boy to pull away from his knees and look up at him.

"Hey there, Little Man."

"Hey Uncle."

Leroy smiled a genuine smile, one where he flashed his teeth. It seemed lately that only his family ever saw it. "How you doin'? You givin' your Mom a hard time?"

"No."

"Good," he replied, looking over at the table and winking at his older sister.

The little boy looked up at his uncle with wide, innocent eyes. "Can I have a piggy back ride?"

"Let your Uncle shower first, Anthony," Renee called out to her son before her brother had a chance to respond.

"But before you do that, Leroy, I want to talk to you," Aaron piped up from his spot on the sofa. The gangly boy ambled further into the room and took a seat beside his father. "I know you closed down the candy shop a couple years ago," he half-whispered to his son, and he watched, amused, as the boy's ears grew red, "I've been thinking of ways you could earn a little extra pocket money this summer when it hit me: how would you like to help me out in the office? It wouldn't be an all-day gig, just a few hours in the morning; you'd be filing, answering the phones and learning the ins-and-outs of the insurance business. I wouldn't be able to pay you much, but it'd be enough to catch a movie with your friends once in awhile without you having to scrounge around in the sofa cushions for change."

Leroy thought the offer over carefully, his eyes darting back and forth as he weighed the pros and cons of the arrangement in his head. Two minutes later, he turned his attention to his father and replied, "Ok Dad, we have a deal. I'll start Monday."

Aaron beamed with pride at the fact that his son was following him into his business and held out his hand. "Always shake on a deal, Son," at this, Leroy clasped his father's hand and cemented their arrangement.

* * *

_**Metropolis Police Station, **_**April 15, 2009. **Members of the Metropolis Police Department were loathe to cooperate with anyone from the _Daily Planet_ as a result of Gil's leaked information; even Lt. Al Henrickson was hesitant when discussing the case with Superman.

"Listen, Clark," he sighed wearily when they met on the roof of the station Wednesday evening to discuss the on-going investigation, "I know you're working this case from both angles, Buddy, and you should know how much we appreciate it, but I'm not sure how much I should be sharing with you considering your day job and all…"

The Man of Steel stood before his friend and former rescuer, blue clad arms crossed, his eyebrow raised. "Al, don't insult my integrity. What Gil Sherach did was inexcusable but we both know that I need this information in order to help catch whoever's doing this."

"I need to have your word that whatever I say won't end up splashed on the front page of your paper tomorrow morning." Clark pierced him with a look. "Ok, ok, good enough for me. What do you want to know?"

"The victims; their names were Keith Balsam, Nathan Lee and Harvey Allen. What connects them besides the fact that they liked to pick up women?"

"Well, they were all promising young professionals: an investment banker, a lawyer and the last worked in the airline industry. We know that the first two men were last seen hanging around bars in the same neighborhood; The Watering Hole over on Rockbridge and O'Malley's on Cambridge, but we're still trying to re-trace the steps of Mr. Allen. All were dumped near their homes…the second victim, Nathan Lee, lived in the building next to yours on Summer St."

Clark grimaced at the news. "And there's nothing else connecting them, you're absolutely sure?"

"As sure as we can be given the circumstances—we've done thorough background checks on all of the victims, spoken to their family, friends and co-workers, and we've come up with nothing whatsoever to tie them together."

Clark could only nod…everyone was doing everything they could and yet it wasn't good enough, the killer was still at large and would remain so, mercilessly claiming more victims until he slipped up. "Anything else you can tell me about how they died? I know the cut to the chest didn't do it…"

Al squirmed uncomfortably, gripping the file folder in his hand nervously. "They, uh…that is, um…you see…" He looked up then, his soft eyes haunted. "Clark, they were tortured. The killer starts with the X, then progresses to smaller cuts and burns all over the body too numerous to count. It wasn't apparent right away what was going on as they had died shortly afterwards and the bulk of the bruises didn't really have a chance to form, but the M.E. says they were all tortured. Harvey Allen even had burn marks, most likely from his own cigarettes. When the killer was through with them, he strangled them to death, we think with his own bare hands."

Superman clenched his fists at the news and took what seemed to be an interminably deep breath. It was some time before he spoke up again. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just going to take one last quick look around the City. Keep me posted."

"Will do. Give my regards to the Missus." With a final wave, Al stepped through the roof access and back into the police station while Clark leapt into the night sky.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, April 17, 2009. **"Hey, CK, did you hear the news?" Jimmy called out as his friend stumbled into the bullpen. "Whoa, are you alright? You look like you've had one hell of a night!"

Clark glared at his friend. _I averted a riot at a worker's strike in Shanghai, came home to change Haley, pulled survivors from a capsized cruise ship in the Mediterranean, came home to feed Haley, went back out and stopped a motor home fire from spreading in North Dakota then managed to get forty-five minutes of sleep before Jason had to be woken up and readied for school. Oh yeah, and did I mention the part where I only got __forty-five minutes of sleep?!_

Jimmy stared at him quizzically, waiting for an answer. When one wasn't forthcoming, he took the hint and moved on, pressing a mug of coffee into the new father's free hand. "They've found another body in the Ladykiller case."

_Dammit._ "When did they find it? And where?" he asked, following the photographer. He detoured by his desk to drop off his briefcase and coat before sitting down beside Jimmy's workspace. The photographer consulted his notepad quickly, "The call came in around 6:25 this morning—the body was found in an alleyway off Doyle St."

"And the victim's name?"

"One of the cops on scene recognized him so they were able get a positive ID right away: uh… Terrence Williams, age 34. I ran the name through the _Planet's_ database, turns out he owned several restaurants in and around Metropolis."

Clark put the mug of coffee down and read over Jimmy's hastily written notes. "I thought the name sounded familiar. He opened up that Asian fusion place uptown that Lois likes." He stood and briskly walked over to his desk, Jimmy hot on his heels, and tugged a map of the City from his drawer. He unfolded it carefully.

"What do the red dots mean?" the younger man asked, pointing to the three marks as Clark was about to add a fourth.

"Those are the locations where the bodies were found."

"And the yellow ones?"

"Where they were last seen." He stared at the two yellow dots. "We still don't have anything for Harvey Allen?"

Jimmy shook his head. "No, but the police aren't exactly cooperating with anyone sporting a _Planet _press badge right now, you know?"

Clark sighed, recalling his own conversation with Al just a day and a half ago. "Tell me about it." He stared hard at the map. "Jimmy, do you see a pattern?" The photographer took the map from his friend and studied it, angling it slightly here and there, before settling it flat on the desk for a proper bird's eye view.

"Nope, not a one. The dumpings look random to me."

"That's what I was afraid of." Clark ran a hand across his face tiredly before carefully readjusting his glasses. "Well, it looks to me like we can do a bit of digging on Terrence Williams, but then we'll have hit the proverbial dead end." A curious look came over his face as soon as he'd uttered the words, and he turned in his chair to face Jimmy. "Say, when's the last time you talked to Chloe?"

"Actually, I was about to give her a call when you walked in. Why?"

"I think I have an idea…"

* * *

_**Somewhere over Pennsylvania**_**, April 18, 2009, 12:11 am.** "I hope you don't mind the cloak and dagger routine, Clo, but I couldn't let Jimmy get suspicious…"

"Say no more, I understand. I'm just happy I get to see my new niece a whole two weeks early! Ok, one more time…the game plan calls for us to stop at your place for a bit, then you're going to…"

"Then I'm going to fly you over to the airport so he can pick you up and take you back to his apartment."

"And what time does he think my flight's getting in?"

"Around 12:30, but I'll get you there closer to 1 so it'll look like you went through baggage claim and everything," he said, momentarily shifting her and her bags of equipment in his arms. She clung to his neck a little tighter.

"Ah! Please be careful, Clark, that stuff is expensive…"

"I know; Lois told me you got it out of the 'Mission: Impossible' catalogue," he teased, glossing over the part where Chloe used all of her considerable computer talents to help locate him the previous year.

"Now who's being a wise-ass?" They both chuckled.

"So…are you sure you don't mind staying with Jimmy? We just weren't ready for visitors again so soon…" Clark asked hesitantly.

"No, actually, I want to stay there," she watched as her flying friend's cheeks began to redden. "It's not like THAT, Clark, geez! It's just that it'll give me space to spread out my equipment without any super-speeders tripping over my power cords, not to mention that I won't have to worry about being woken up by any 3 am wailing…"

"Ok, ok, I get it." She looked over at her superhero friend and rolled her eyes.

They flew along in silence for a little while, Chloe smiling as the clouds whipped past, before recollecting why she was flying towards Metropolis in the first place. "Just what _exactly_ is it that you need me to do again?"

"Uh uh, we're not getting into that tonight. Tonight you are going to meet my daughter and get yourself settled in at Jimmy's; tomorrow we'll talk business."

"Alright, suit yourself," she replied as he slowed and began their descent onto his rooftop. He landed without a word and instantly spun into his regular clothes, pushing his glasses onto his face before grabbing her bags and heading for the door. "Come on Clark. I've known you what, over twenty years now? You don't need to wear the glasses around me."

He turned back to face her and unconsciously pushed them up the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, guess it's just force of habit here. I'll take them off when we get inside the apartment." He led the way down the stairs to his floor, carefully balancing her copious amounts of equipment. Arms full, he gave a soft knock at the front door before Lois let them in.

"Chloe! I'm so happy you could drop by!" Lois exclaimed, greeting her friend with a hug while Clark ambled in with the bags.

"It's good to see you too! I'm just glad I could help the boys out AND see my niece at the same time. Speaking of which, where is she?" Clark padded down the hall at a leisurely pace and re-appeared shortly with Haley in his arms; she was swaddled in a light blue blanket and sleeping soundly. He handed her wordlessly over to Chloe.

"Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed quietly, her eyes widening as she took in every feature of Clark and Lois' daughter. "She's so tiny! And pink! Oh just look at her! Look at all of that gorgeous hair…she gets that from you, Lois, you know that, right? Oh I could just eat her up!!" The new mother smiled proudly as she looked down at her daughter resting in Chloe's arms. They had made their way over to the sofa before the baby began to stir with all the jostling.

"Uh-oh," Lois said softly. Chloe looked over at her, fearing a super-burst of screaming. "Just wait for it…"

At that instant, Haley's eyes popped open and she blearily looked up into her Aunt's face. She didn't cry, or even whimper, just stared straight at her.

"Oh. My. Goodness."

Clark sat on the arm of the chair where Lois had situated herself; he looked down at his wife and smiled. "You did warn her…" he said, leaning down to kiss Lois on the top of her head.

She placed a hand on his knee lovingly. "That I did."

Haley and Chloe were too busy bonding to notice the other adults in the room. _Her eyes are just like Clark's, it's uncanny…oh you are going to be such a heart breaker someday, aren't you?_ She reached out a hand and lovingly stroked her niece's cheek with the back of her finger._ Just like your Momma and Poppa… _She smiled down at the little girl, and even though she knew such a thing wasn't possible until two months of age, she could've sworn that the infant smiled back.

Clark took a whiff of the air around him and stood up. "I think that's my cue…" he started to say.

"Oh no, Honey, I've got it, you stay here and catch up with Chloe."

"Uh uh, you're on diaper duty during the day, now it's my turn. You two have fun chatting, I promise I won't eavesdrop," he said, winking, as he gathered the child into his arms and casually made his way down the hall cooing softly at his daughter.

"You guys fight over diaper duty?" Chloe asked incredulously.

Lois smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "What can I tell you? He won't put her down. He popped back here every fifteen minutes during his first two days back at work; I kept telling him we were fine, and I think he knows that, he just…"

"…doesn't want to miss a minute of her," Chloe finished. The other woman nodded.

Lois turned her gaze away and eyed the bags left by the door. "So, I see you brought all of your 'Spy Kids' gear…listen, are you sure you don't want to stay here? We weren't really expecting any guests but Clark can have the pull out ready in a jiffy..."

Chloe held up her hand to stop her. "I'll be fine at Jimmy's, Lois. Besides, it'll give us a chance to spend more time together. Maybe we can go for a walk or a movie instead of our usual catch-'em-while-you-can lunches and dinners, you know?"

"I understand, I just want you to still feel welcome here."

"And I do…so much so that I'm sure I'll be back over the course of the weekend," she said jokingly, making them both laugh.

Clark re-entered the room, having put Haley back in her crib. "Well I hate to break this up, but we should really get you to the airport." Chloe got up and gave Lois another hug.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I'll see you in a few hours, I'm sure."

"You better…" Lois said, finger wagging, "After all, you did promise no more sneaking in and out of the City." Her friend laughed.

Chloe turned around to find Clark back in his primary colored suit and unlatching the living room window. "It's easier to leave through the window than land… especially when I've got people and bags in tow."

"Gotcha. Well, I'm ready if you are," she said, walking over to him and letting him pick her up in his arms. He hooked the bag straps around his forearms and took off out the window to deposit her at the airport where she could safely await the arrival of her boyfriend.

* * *

_**Metropolis Airport**_**, April 18, 2009, 12:48 AM. **The trickiest part was finding a recently landed, _empty _plane that was still connected to a terminal. After circling overhead undetected for several minutes, Clark finally spied an opening and zipped down into the retractable tunnel at speeds faster than he normally would have used while flying with a passenger. He stuck his foot in the door to the airport before it had time to lock and set Chloe down beside him. She just stood there with her bags at her feet, looking positively shell shocked.

"Are you alright?" he asked anxiously as her hand flew up to smooth her windswept hair.

"Hold on…I'm just waiting for my stomach to catch up."

"Sorry about that, but I couldn't let the door lock and risk triggering the alarm. Would you like me to walk with you through the airport, or can you make your way to the taxi stand by yourself?"

She'd regained her composure by then and put a hand reassuringly on his bicep. "I'll be fine from here on out. What time should I tell Jimmy to expect you tomorrow?"

"You mean today." He winked. "Tell him I'll come over around 10, if that's alright. You can call my cell if you want to make it earlier or later."

"Will do. Good night!" she said, scooping up her bags and slipping through the door, joining the other passengers milling about in the terminal. He glanced through the walls and followed her progress momentarily, making sure she didn't get stopped by security for any reason, before flying back up the tunnel and out of sight.

* * *

Jimmy sat in the back of the taxi with his hands on his knees, his feet tap-dancing to their own beat on the floor of the car. He was so excited to see her again that he couldn't contain himself—even the taxi driver was anxious to see who made his passenger so nervous and jittery. They had crawled along past other taxis and cars, searching for an available spot, when Chloe stepped out of the automatic doors. Jimmy jumped out of the cab before it came to a full stop at the edge of the curb. He gathered her into a fierce hug before pressing his lips fervently against hers, making her swoon and almost drop her laptop bag.

"Hi," he whispered breathlessly when they finally parted.

"Hi yourself," she replied, still in a daze.

"I've missed you."

"I can tell…" she replied teasingly. They both blushed. The driver stood behind his cab, trunk open, and coughed loudly.

"Oh, right! Here, let me help you with those bags…" Jimmy said, grabbing some of her equipment and stowing it safely away before climbing into the back of the cab beside her, clasping her hand in his. The driver eyed the couple in the rearview mirror and smiled wistfully at the picture of young love in bloom in his backseat. "I'm really glad you could make it out here this weekend—I know it was really last minute, but Clark says you're pretty good at this stuff—"

"Better than pretty good," she remarked, cutting him off, her smart-aleck ways finally returning to her after such a passionate greeting.

"Is that what got you into trouble back in your days working for the _Torch_?"

"Part of it, yeah."

"Why do I get the feeling you have so many more stories to tell?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. She didn't bother answering the rhetorical question, giving him instead her best Cheshire Cat grin. "I'm so glad you decided to stay with me too…it gave me a chance to clean out the bachelor pad, and believe me, it needed it."

She laughed heartily. "Your bachelor pad, is it? Did you have to tell all the other girls to come back next weekend?"

"Hey now, it isn't like that! I just meant that you forced my hand into washing all those dishes that have been piling up in my sink. You know there aren't any other women…"

"I know," she said, snuggling closer against his arm and inhaling the subtle scent of his cologne.

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head tenderly. "Have I told you just how much I've missed you…?" he asked her quietly, wrapping his arm around her and holding her close.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**April 18, 2009, 1:28 AM. **"And here's the bedroom," Jimmy exclaimed proudly, concluding the ten cent tour of his place. He set her bags down next to the chair in the corner, which he had stacked with extra blankets and towels for the bathroom. "I'll let you have first crack at the bathroom, seeing as how you've been traveling and must be tired. I'm gonna go pull out the sleeper sofa for myself and set that up if you need me for anything…"

She yawned. "Jimmy, I don't mind the sofa, really! I don't want to kick you out of your own bed."

He simply stood in the doorway and shook his head. "I won't hear of it, you're my guest and you're getting the bed, that's final," he said, giving her a wink before closing the door behind him.

Five minutes later and the sleeper sofa was all set—only then did Jimmy realize he'd left his pajamas in the bedroom. He moved down the hallway and gently rapped on the door. "Um, Chloe? I'm sorry to bother you, but I kind of forgot my lounge pants in there…" he got no response so he pushed the door open and poked his head in. "Chloe?"

He gazed over his girlfriend lovingly, finding her fast asleep on top of the bed still fully clothed, having had only enough energy to kick her shoes off before sleep claimed her. With a quiet chuckle, Jimmy pulled down the sheets beside her and slipped her into the bed, tucking her in the way his mother used to do for him when he was a child. Pausing, he bent down and brushed his lips across her forehead. "Good night," he whispered, grabbing his pajama bottoms out of the bureau drawer and closing the door softly behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Russell Insurance, East Side Slums, **_**August 19, 1981. **Leroy bent over the bottom drawer of one of the large, black cabinets and filed reports that had been sitting on his father's desk, unmoved for the last eight months. The heat was stifling, and he watched his dad out of the corner of his eye. Aaron sat behind his desk, wearing a short-sleeved, white shirt and light grey tie; he'd been on the telephone for ten minutes and was now gesticulating wildly with his hands. The short sleeves were Aaron's only concession to the heat; Leroy knew that he would never even loosen the tie, let alone take it off.

"It's unprofessional to work in an office without a tie, Son, never forget that. You can get away with it though, you're young and only working here part-time this summer. For future reference though, always remember to wear a tie. It lets people know that you mean business."

Leroy pulled out a nearby chair and sat down, fanning himself with one of the thinner files. Joseph Lovell,Aaron's only full-time employee, was out on personal leave all week, leaving Leroy and his father alone in the small office. It was a nice enough space; a handful of magazines surrounded a fern plant on a low coffee table in the small waiting area, several black filing cabinets stood tall behind the secretary's desk and a small water cooler gurgled in the corner. The cabinets that Leroy was currently working in housed the insurance company's records and also hid the other desks from prying eyes. There was even a kitchenette; nothing much, just enough to make coffee and store lunches and snacks. In the back of the space, there was a small closet nestled in the left corner while a door leading to a tiny bathroom dominated the right side.

_Dad's done well,_ the young man thought as he surveyed the space, taking a short break to try amd cool down before tackling the cabinet again. _After working here all summer, I admire him a heck of a lot more for what he does but he doesn't see the risks like I do. Yes, it's nice that he looks out for our community, but the truth is, they're even poorer then we are! Just two or three crises in the neighborhood and we'll be homeless and pan-handling for change on the corner there with Mr. Jenkins…Dad's been lucky so far, but if only he'd listen to me when I tell him just __how__ lucky…_he sighed aloud, worrying for the future prosperity of his father's business.

"Always remember, if you treat your employees fairly and give them space to do their job, they'll never disappoint you." Aaron had given this advice to his son during his second week in the office and Leroy had taken this declaration to heart. Aaron watched him surreptitiously for a while before the young man stood up, the sweat stains glaringly apparent in the underarms of his dress shirt. Once he was cool, Leroy brushed his hands off on his khaki pants and went back to work, never once complaining about the almost unbearable heat. _I'm a lucky man to have such a hard-working son,_ Aaron thought, not for the first time, as he flipped open the file on his desk and returned to work.

* * *

_**Broom closet, Metropolan News Magazine, **_**April 17, 2009. **Ryan Ringgold smirked in self-satisfaction as he stood in the broom closet with the company's newest hire, Tracy, leaning against him. She was a leggy, 2008 graduate of Metropolis University, journalism major, sorority sister and most importantly…_not_ his wife. She pressed herself against him further and whispered seductively in his ear, causing him to laugh in genuine delight at the subject of their 'staff meeting' that would be held _much_ later that evening. He brushed her bottle-blonde hair from her neck and dragged his lips over the smooth, tanned skin before nipping his way along the neckline of her provocative blouse. She clutched his head to her chest as he fumbled for the front clasp to her bra.

Arthur Cheswick was breezing down the hallway to his office when he heard a soft 'thumping' sound coming from a small janitor's closet in an alcove. His curiosity got the better of him then; without hesitation he stepped forward and flung the door wide open.

"Oh my God…" Arthur's quiet exclamation was quickly drowned out by a surprised shout…

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**April 18, 2009. **Chloe stepped out of the bedroom, fully dressed, toweling off the ends of her damp hair and padding down the hallway toward the living room in her bare feet. She stopped when she came upon Jimmy, sprawled out on his stomach on the sofa with his sleep-tousled hair sticking up in all different directions and she smiled. He was a man of many faces, her Jim: a timid yet eager photographer, her confidante, protector, friend…

_I hate to admit it… but I think I'm falling in love._

Not accustomed to giving her heart away so swiftly, Chloe swept all of her affectionate thoughts to the back of her mind, and jabbed him in the shoulder with her finger. He shifted position and snuggled further into his pillow, oblivious to her presence and her predicament. She poked him harder.

Settling herself on the arm of the sofa, she brushed the soft, dirty-blonde hair away from his ear and whispered huskily, "Jim, I need you." His lips twitched up into a small, content smile and he inhaled deeply, his eyes flitting back and forth behind his eyelids. Chloe studied him thoughtfully, wondering what he was dreaming about, when she suddenly remembered the time and stepped up her awakening efforts; she called out to him more sharply, "Jimmy!"

His eyes flew open when he realized that this wasn't a dream—Chloe was really there, on the sofa with him. "What the…?!" he cried out in surprise, rapidly flipping onto his side to face her causing the blanket to slip to his waist. Chloe stared at him in shock, obviously not expecting such a startled response; her eyes widened and she slipped her gaze down his torso when she realized just what he was wearing…or not, as the case may be.

Jim lay there in nothing but his black lounge pants, his bare chest still heaving from his earlier scare.

Chloe stared, entranced, at the smooth expanse of skin before her. She blushed when she realized that she'd been gaping at him; Jim seemed to notice his lack of attire simultaneously and he clutched the blanket to his chest as if to protect his modesty. "I…uh…good morning?" he hastily offered as his breathing returned to a more normal rhythm.

"Hi," she replied shyly. "I'm sorry for startling you, it's just that, um, Clark said he'd be here in about an hour and I thought that maybe you and I could get everything set up so that we can start working when he gets here …"

"Right! Right…let me just…" he gingerly sat up to avoid toppling her from her perch on the sofa and swung his legs down. Standing up and facing her once more, he finished, "I'll get the coffee started and take a quick shower. You need help setting up your equipment?"

Chloe stared straight into his soft, brown eyes. "No, no I'm good…shall I just put it all on the table in there?"

He was already part-way into the kitchen as she spoke. "Yeah, that's fine. Just keep an eye on the coffee, will you? The mugs are in the cabinet next to the refrigerator…I won't be more than ten minutes…fifteen, tops. Promise."

"Take your time," she replied with a wave of her hand. She began unzipping the black bags she'd brought out of the bedroom earlier, situating her laptop in front of her and plugging in various cords here and there. She came across her cell phone and turned it on; she'd shut it off after work the previous day and forgot that she'd stuffed it in amongst her luggage for the trip to Metropolis.

"**You have 1 new voicemail message**," the screen read.

Entering in her code, she listened to the missed call. "Hey, Chloe, it's Arthur Cheswick, how are you?" she grimaced at the sound of his overly-pleasant voice, especially in light of the way he'd treated her after her interview in February. "I was calling because…well…ok, Clo, I'm going to drop the charade here. We caught Ringgold getting cozy with the new hire he had hand-picked for the City Beat job—the same position he rejected you for because he said you were un-professional. Well, now that we know who the unprofessional party was, they've both been fired. I'm calling to see if you're still interested in working with us. Believe me, I'd understand if you weren't given the way Ringgold must've treated you, but I also remember how much you wanted to get back to the City, so please, Chloe, at least think about it. My cell phone number is…" she hastily jotted down the number on a nearby napkin then hung up the phone.

_Oh my God, that creep actually got what was coming to him! He got what was coming to him and now I'm being offered a __great__ job! No, it's better than great, it's TERIFFIC! It would mean being back here in Metropolis, reporting the news and current events, going to museums and shows… seeing Jimmy whenever I want without having to call in a favor from Clark…but what if Jimmy doesn't want to see me? What if he likes this long distance thing we've got going and my moving to the City will ruin it?_ Her mind was racing, and only the hissing of the coffeemaker brought her back down to Earth. _Ok there—breathe, just breathe, you're getting ahead of yourself here, _she reminded herself as she flicked the machine off. Grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, she placed them down on the counter and waited for the coffee to settle.

_Chloe Sullivan–if you take this job you are doing it for yourself and not for anyone else, you understand?! Jimmy's wonderful, and your relationship may or may not last, but this job is what you need to focus on right now—this is your FUTURE! Now, do you __want__ to work for a news magazine that hired such a sexist pig as Ryan Ringgold? _She bit her lower lip in thought, pouring the coffee into the mugs and opening the refrigerator door to get the milk. _Yes I do, I really really do…because, first and foremost, they're one of the most respected news magazines in the country…and secondly, they've realized the mistake they made with Ringgold and called me back first thing!_ Chloe couldn't believe her luck at being offered a job with the 'Metropolan'; the implications of Arthur's message finally sunk in and she froze, milk pitcher in hand, with a wide grin permanently affixed to her face. _I think I really am going to take this job…now I just have to find a way to tell…_

"Chloe?" Jimmy walked down the hallway in his jeans and red Metropolis Meteors jersey and poked his head into the kitchen. She turned and stared at him blankly. "Are you alright?"

"Hmmm?"

"I asked if you were alright." He sidled up to her, watching her carefully.

She looked down at the pitcher in her hand, debating whether to tell him right then and there. "Yes! Yes I'm fine…I just couldn't remember how you took your coffee. You'd think I'd remember that by now but I guess not…"

"It's ok," he whispered huskily, taking the pitcher from her and setting it on the counter. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in close to him, covering her lips with his. What started as an innocent brush melted into a long, sensuous meeting of their mouths and she draped both arms around his neck to steady her suddenly weak knees. "You remember the important things, and that's all that matters…"

* * *

**9:59 AM.** Clark stood outside the door to Jimmy's apartment, glancing up and down the hall before he slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose to make sure he didn't catch his two dating friends at an 'inopportune' moment. He pushed the glasses back up with a satisfactory smile when he found them hard at work around the kitchen table.

A loud rapping at the door grabbed their attention and Jimmy bolted up out of his chair to answer it. "Hey, CK, glad you could make it. We've got a lot of information so far…"

"…and we're pulling up more every minute," Chloe finished for him.

"Hey guys," he said, nodding at each of them. "Say, Clo, how was your flight in last night?" He barely contained the mirth in his voice.

"Oh, you know…loads of turbulence—at least I didn't have to use the complimentary barf-bag; other then that it was alright," she replied mischievously her emerald eyes glittering.

Clark rolled his eyes at his crazy friend…_Always with the sarcasm, Chloe, very funny…_"So, you guys said you had lots of information?"

Jimmy nodded, grabbing a small stack riddled with red marker underlines. "I knew she was talented, but this absolutely blows my mind," he said, jerking a thumb in Chloe's direction. "The M.P.D. would be put to shame if they saw what she could do."

She beamed at the compliment. "Unfortunately though, we're still not turning up much of anything useful. Jimmy gave me the names of the victims and I can't seem to find a connection, no matter how tenuous it might be. Two were white, one was Asian, one African-American…they went to four separate colleges, three out-of-state and one in-state, all were doing well in their respective fields, they had apartments in what were considered to be 'safe' neighborhoods…the only link I've been able to establish that I don't think the police have caught onto yet was that two of the victims were in the same fraternity order."

"Well that's something!" Clark exclaimed excitedly; he bounced up onto his toes, ready to create any flimsy excuse to dash out the door to follow the lead, and hopefully save some lives.

"Whoa there, Cowboy, not yet," she said, urging him to calm down when she noticed the gleam in her friend's blue eyes.

Jimmy moved back over to his seat beside Chloe. "Yeah, we've been tracking that one down virtually and from what Chloe's been able to pull up so far, it seems like that's just mere coincidence. Keith Balsam went to college in Vermont and Harvey Allen in Virginia, so they never would have met."

"Not even at, say, a frat mixer hosted here in the City for alumni from all chapters?" Clark asked curiously, raising an eyebrow at the pair.

They both smiled. "We're already way ahead of you, Buddy. Chloe's been pulling up old newsletters and has found no such mention of any event like that having been hosted here in the last five years. My gut is telling me that it's a dead end."

He nodded and rubbed his hands together. "Good work you guys, now what do you need me to do?"

Chloe piped up. "Jimmy said the police have been tracing credit card records from the last 72 hours before the victims died; I was able to get my hands on Terrence Williams' statement so you guys can compare it with the others, see if something jumps out at you." Jimmy gathered up the file folders from the _Planet_ along with the statements Chloe had just printed and motioned for Clark to join him at the coffee table. The tall reporter followed him over to the sofa, unfolding his map of Metropolis with the red and yellow dots on it and spreading it across the table.

The next seventy-five minutes passed in relative silence, except for the occasional clinking of coffee mugs or soft requests for a pen or highlighter. At one point, Jimmy got up and moved over behind Chloe, gently rubbing her shoulders and observing as she hacked past security protocols, searching for the information they needed to break the case wide open so that Jimmy and Clark could claim the by-line and Superman could 'do his thing'.

Clark surreptitiously watched his friends out of the corner of his eye and marveled at how naturally they fit. _Just like me and Lois_, he thought, watching as Chloe turned to kiss her boyfriend on the cheek before shooing him away to let her get back to work undistracted. _You don't think…_but Clark didn't have time to dwell on his latest thought as Jimmy returned to the couch just then, forcing him to re-focus on the victims' credit card statements. Two minutes later he consulted the map again.

"Jimmy, hand me that yellow marker there, would you?"

"Sure," he replied, tossing the writing implement towards his friend. "You think you're onto something there, CK?"

Clark nodded, placing three new dots on the map. "Ok, tell me what you see."

The photographer scanned the map closely. "The red dots appear to be random, but the yellow ones…they're pretty close together, aren't they?" Chloe got up and moved over to the sofa to see what they had discovered.

"Uh huh," Clark responded. "We know now that Harvey Allen went to the Skellig pub the night before he disappeared, and this yellow dot here represents where Terrence Williams was last seen, at the Mad Hatter bar. They're all located within six City blocks of each other, and both are bars where mostly young professionals go to unwind. Even the Ace o' Clubs, one of the after-work haunts frequented by the _Planet _staff is on here, albeit on the periphery," he exclaimed, pointing to the unmarked location with his finger. "And the red dots aren't as random as they seem at first, they're…"

"May I take a guess?" Chloe asked staring at the red dots scattered further away from the yellow studded center.

"Be my guest."

"They're near the victims' homes."

"Bingo."

Jimmy looked from one to the other in awe at their ease in catching something he'd so obviously missed. "Ok then…I guess I'll be skipping out on my Friday night beers at the Ace for a little while…"

Clark turned back to the topic at hand. "At least now we can narrow down the killer's preferences a little bit better. It's not just random, young professional men, it's young professional men from a specific environment, and at a time when they're likely to be most vulnerable."

"And after he's done, he dumps them back near where they live. But why there? Why not some place where they wouldn't be found so easily? Also, none of this explains the branding marks left on the bodies above the hearts," Jimmy added.

Both men shot Chloe a look which she answered by shrugging her shoulders. "Don't look at me…I did a very basic search on the letter X, and most of what I got was pornographic in nature. Maybe it's some buried treasure-type reference? 'X marks the spot' and all that?"

"Maybe…" Clark hesitantly agreed. "But something tells me there's more to it than that…" He didn't have time to finish his thought, as a far-off cry for help reached his ears. "Hey, listen guys, I'm sorry to cut-and-run, but I just remembered I have to go to an appointment with Lois and the baby…"

"Ok Clark, we'll see you later then. Take care!" Chloe answered quickly as she shuffled him towards the door, knowing that Superman must be needed if he had to leave so abruptly. He stuck his foot in the door before she closed it on him.

"Before I forget, Lois is taking me out for my birthday tomorrow night and she said to invite you guys. Her parents are going to watch the kids, so we thought we'd go to the Biltmore. Meet at our place at 7:30 tomorrow? Great. Bye!" and he was off.

Jimmy sat on the couch looking like he was suffering from whiplash. "Wh—what just happened there?" he finally asked.

"What do you mean what just happened? Clark and Lois had some appointment for the baby and he left. He also invited us to his birthday dinner."

"Oh…" he said, sitting in his seat and puzzling over the facts a moment longer; his head spun at the swiftness of Clark's departure and Chloe's seemingly ready acceptance of their friend's disappearance.

"Well, I don't know how much more help I can be on the computer, so…what do you say we grab some lunch and go for a walk? Or see a movie? Or go to a gallery? Or…" she asked, curling up on the sofa next to him and continued babbling. He stopped her with a simple kiss.

Pulling back slightly, his brown eyes searched for hers. Two, twinkling green orbs stared back at him in delight. "I think that sounds like a great idea," he whispered into her mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

**_East Side Slums_, September 5, 1983. **Man has always been intrigued by the power of fire.

Fire brought man out of the Dark Ages. Fire gave man the ability to toil away long after the sun set and kept him warm in cold weather, allowing for survival in harsh climates.

And ever since its discovery, man quickly learnt that fire began with the simplest of sparks.

The streets of Metropolis' most notorious slums were quiet as Sunday evening gave way to early Monday morning. Most people, like Leroy Russell and his parents, were sleeping peacefully in their beds and getting some much needed rest before the new day. Others, like the man walking down B Street with two beer bottles in one hand and a fistful of rags in the other, were looking for trouble.

He paused on the sidewalk across the street from Yasmin's House of Beauty and his eyes darted around, making sure all was quiet. After dipping the rags in the gas-filled bottoms of the bottles, he tipped them over ever so slightly and watched as the viscous liquid soaked the dirty white material. Once he was satisfied that his wicks were sufficiently wet, he pulled an old Zippo lighter from his pocket and eyed his target one more time before lighting the rag and hurling the projectile across the street. The beer bottle broke through the A in Yasmin's sign and the orange lick of flames quickly engulfed the space. Not even three seconds later, the second bottle flew through the window.

The arsonist paused to admire his handiwork, his smile growing as the flames climbed higher up the walls, rendering to ash the posters of perfectly-coiffed men and women from the 1970's. He stayed longer then he had originally intended, marveling at how perfectly it had all gone to plan; the arsonist was only broken out of his reverie by someone leaning out of an overhead window and screaming "FIRE!" at the top of their lungs. The man who set Yasmin's House of Beauty ablaze backed stealthily into a nearby alley, sprinting away from the scene once he was safely concealed amongst the shadows.

Leroy awoke shortly after 3 am, roused from sleep by the muffled sound of his parents shuffling around in the living room. The sight of the bright, red and blue lights dancing on his wall seemed almost ethereal in the early hours of the morning. He moved to his window in time to see the thick, black column of smoke pouring from an old, brick building several blocks away. Leroy quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt and followed the sound of his parent's footsteps.

"It looks like Yasmin's place," his mother said, looking out the living room window in the direction of the blaze. She wrapped herself more fully in her faded robe when a chill ran up her spine. "Oh she'll be heartbroken…that place has been her baby for at least the last twenty years." Rose clucked her tongue and shook her head in sorrow over her friend's loss; she turned in time to see her husband re-emerge from their bedroom, fully-dressed and tugging his favorite gray tie into place. "And where do you think you're going at this hour?"

"If you're right, Rose, and it is Yasmin's place, then I have to assess the damage; she's insured through me."

"Yes, but do you have to go _right now_? Can't this wait until morning? The firefighters haven't even put out the fire yet!"

Aaron threw on an old, red windbreaker and finished tying his shoes as she spoke, before grabbing a clipboard and pen he kept nearby in the kitchen for just such an occasion. "It _is_ morning, and I'm not just going as her insurance agent…I'm also going as her friend." Rose bit her tongue at her husband's words and nodded in understanding, then turned her attention back to the window.

"Do you want me to come with you, Dad?"

"No thank you, Son. It's best if I handle this alone right now, besides, you have school in the morning. You need your rest; it's no use starting a new school year off on the wrong foot due to a lack of sleep."

"Yes Sir."

Aaron paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Good. I'll see you both in a couple of hours then."

Leroy watched his father, the quiet hero, slip out the door and into the crisp, early Fall morning, before returning to his mother's side. They watched the inferno rage on from the relative safety of their apartment.

* * *

_**Metropolis**_**, April 19, 2009. **Jimmy stood before the mirror in his bathroom, grinning happily at his reflection as he and his girlfriend prepared for an evening out with their friends, but his thoughts kept playing a loop of the previous day's events.

After Clark had left them so abruptly the preceding morning, Jimmy and Chloe took the opportunity to grab a leisurely bite to eat before hopping in a cab to the Vanderworth Museum of Art to check out the newly opened Jackson Pollock exhibit, in addition to indulging in their shared habit of people-watching. They'd spent an hour arm-in-arm, meandering in and out of rooms and expressing their likes and dislikes about various pieces. Still tired from her late evening flight and their early morning research, Chloe fairly collapsed onto a nearby empty bench; Jimmy situated himself next to her while facing in the opposite direction.

"I wish I could spend everyday here," she sighed wistfully, inhaling deeply while surveying the expansive room. "I love it here."

"I know you do Honey, why do you think I suggested we come? I wasn't sure if you were a Pollock fan but I figured it was worth…"

She turned to face him. "What did you just call me?"

"Hmm?"

"You called me a name, what did you just call me?"

His brows furrowed adorably in concentration. "I did? I'm sorry—I wasn't even thinking about it, I don't know what I said…"

"You called me Honey," she told him.

Jim froze, unsure of her reception of his unintentional endearment. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a well-dressed, older woman looking over 'Lavender Mist' with a critical eye. He turned around so he and Chloe were facing the same way.

"What do you think she's thinking?" he asked quietly, nudging Chloe and indicating the woman in question with his head.

"Jimmy, I don't think…"

"I'll bet she's wondering if it would fit the empty space on the wall behind her sofa in the living room of her 7th Avenue penthouse apartment. Or maybe she's wondering if it would match the color scheme in her bathroom," he babbled nervously.

"If her bathroom color scheme is lavender, then I'm sure it would. Now, Jimmy, I…"

He hung his head slightly in defeat, his meager attempt to deflect attention away from his earlier comment proving ineffective. He let loose a sigh. "I know—I'm moving too fast. I shouldn't have called you that, I'm sorry…"

Chloe covered his hand with hers and squeezed gently. "Jim! Not everything you say has to be followed by an apology. I was actually going to tell you that I rather liked you calling me 'Honey'. I liked it even more when you said it just came out naturally. I wanted to kiss you too, but then you went off about that woman and the inordinate amount of attention she was paying to 'Lavender…Oh!" he stopped her with a sweet kiss on the lips. "Not that I mind the interruption, but must you always cut me off with a kiss in mid-sentence? Sometimes I'd like to be the one initiating all the kissing!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flaring bright red.

Jimmy draped his arm around her waist and she laid her head on his shoulder; they sat like that for some time, chatting quietly and watching the people around them stare at abstract art while they privately speculated about their daily lives. Once they got up again, another hour and a half was spent wandering around the museum before they decided to see a movie, catching the latest romantic comedy as it best suited their current good mood.

The pair was exiting the theater when Chloe's stomach rumbled ominously. Jimmy caught her eye, then glanced down at her stomach and laughed out loud. "Hold on, I have an idea." He flagged down a cab. "Corner of Grant and Radcliffe, please."

"Jimmy, that's two blocks from your apartment, why don't we just go back to your place…"

He held up a hand. "All in good time, my Lady, all in good time…" She eyed him apprehensively, wondering what was going on in his dark blonde head, and settled for a peck on her forehead in explanation. Ten minutes later, the taxi dropped them off in front of a supermarket.

"We could've just stopped in at O'Malley's you know. I liked it there, and besides, you wouldn't have to worry about the…" she lowered her voice and put a hand over her mouth so only he could hear, "…'Ladykiller Killer' because I'd be there with you and I wouldn't let anyone take you without a fight."

"Aww, you'd defend me to the death, how sweet!" he teased, laughing alongside her. "Well, I just thought that instead of greasy bar-food, you might enjoy a fine, home-cooked meal. Now, I'm no world-class chef, but Mom wouldn't hear of letting me leave home without a few of the basics. Just double checking, you don't have any weird food allergies or anything, right?" She shook her head and her golden tresses whipped around her shoulders in an incredibly charming manner. "Good! Follow me," he took her hand and pulled her through the automatic doors, scooping up a plastic shopping basket as he went. The only items she recognized out of all his purchases were a package of fettuccine, a wedge of parmesan cheese and a bottle of white wine.

An hour later, they settled down at the kitchen table with a dinner of Fettuccine Alfredo a la Olsen. Jimmy studied her intensely as she inhaled the tantalizing aroma wafting up off the plate, and eagerly awaited her reaction to the first bite. Chloe tentatively placed the fork in her mouth and her eyes widened in surprise as an explosion of flavor unlike any other burst forth; she found it impossible to distinguish what secret ingredients he'd slipped into the sauce that made the dish so mouthwatering, even when she'd stood by and watched him purchase it all.

"Oh my God. Jim, this is incredible! Here, you have to try it," she exclaimed, ignoring the fact that he had his own plate and instead leaned over and offered him a bite from hers.

"Yep, not bad," he replied with a self-satisfied smile.

"What did you add?"

"Uh uh, _that_ is a trade secret kept strictly amongst us bachelors."

"Oh really?" said, raising an eyebrow. "Did you guys happen to form a secret recipe-sharing club or something?"

"No, nothing like that. It was more like my co-worker Gil and I spent too long talking over the water cooler one day." She laughed. The meal was quickly polished off and they moved over to the couth to snuggle, splitting what remained of the bottle of Chardonnay between them and chatting while a made-for-TV movie played in the background.

Several hours later, he scowled at the clock as it pointed toward 1 am; he didn't want the night to end, yet he suspected that she might be tired after such a long day. Jimmy stayed silent a moment longer, enjoying the pleasant feel of her soft body nestled in the crook of his arm, silent and completely content. Another look at the clock and he knew this moment of bliss had to end.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I do believe you're sitting on my bed," he said jokingly.

She lifted her head up from its place on his shoulder and stared straight into his puppy dog brown eyes. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know."

"Oh?"

"We can both…" she let the thought trail off as her eyes moved down the hall to the bedroom door.

"Chloe, I…that wasn't what I was thinking when I invited you to spend the weekend here."

"I know." She straddled him and kissed him hungrily, her delicate tongue caressing his lips, demanding entrance to his mouth. He eagerly returned her enthusiasm, running his fingers through her hair as she moved her hands down his neck and chest. She was about to pull his shirt up and over his head when he stopped her.

"I think…I think you're getting the wrong idea." Like a bucket of ice water, his words stopped her cold in her tracks and she scooted off of his lap towards the other end of the sofa.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't want to rush this…yes, I want to _be_ with you, but not until we're both ready. I don't want us to become a casual fling."

"Oh." They sat there in silence for a few moments, avoiding each other's gaze. Without warning, she got up from the couch and extended her hand towards him; he took it, staring at her questioningly, and she helped him up and down the hall.

"I thought I just said…"

"I know what you just said," she replied smartly, closing the bedroom door behind them. "But that doesn't mean that you should have to sleep on that uncomfortable sofa, or that we both can't be adults about this. It's a big bed, Jim."

He eyed her curiously. "Are you sure?" But she already had her back to him as she unbuttoned her blouse, preparing to change into her pajamas.

"Of course I'm sure. Although, you must know…"

_Oh no, what now? _He thought worriedly.

"…there will be spooning involved. I'm insisting on it."

A wide grin threatened to split his face and he shook his head, before grabbing a pair of lounge pants and an old t-shirt from the bureau. "Now that I can _definitely _handle."

Jimmy awoke this morning after having enjoyed the most restful night's sleep of his life and delightedly discovered that his arm was wrapped around a beautiful woman. He propped himself up on one elbow and studied her as she slept; the morning light flooding through the window accentuating her pale, soft skin and playing across the highlights in her neat and trim, golden blonde tresses. Jimmy marveled at how un-mussed her hair seemed and how prettily her lips curled as she lay asleep in his bed, dreaming. He resisted the strong urge to stroke her side lazily with his fingers and risk waking her. It was some time later that she rolled over onto her back and stirred.

Her right eye fluttered open, followed closely by her left, and she stared blearily into Jim's face. "How long have you been watching me?" she asked, her voice throaty with sleep.

"Not long," he lied.

"Mmmmm…" she stretched contentedly. "Did you sleep ok?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten," he admitted quietly.

"Me too." She stopped and nibbled her lower lip, looking as if she were about to tell him something important. "Jimmy, I…" the blare of the alarm clock on the night stand startled them both. "Oh crap, I knew I forgot to turn that off yesterday. I am so sorry…" she said, rolling over to stop the annoying beeping.

"It's alright…" he murmured, but before he could finish, she rolled back over and covered his mouth with hers.

"Thank you for last night."

He shot her a puzzled look. "You're welcome?"

"You were right; when the time is right, that's when…you know…"

"Oh, that! You're very welcome then," he replied, sweeping her hair from her neck and nuzzling the exposed skin, causing her to giggle. "Chloe Sullivan, you may share my bed with me anytime…" he whispered huskily, replacing his nuzzles with warm, open-mouthed kisses along the creamy column of her neck. She lay there, snuggled against him for some time when an idea formed in her mind and she slid out of bed, leaving a warm imprint in the sheets to keep him company.

"Hey, where are you going?" he called out to her in surprise.

She slipped her robe on over her shoulders. "_**I**_ am going to make you breakfast."

"But it's my kitchen!" he cried, leaping out of bed to follow her...

Jimmy forcefully shook himself out of his daydream to find Chloe standing beside him deftly applying her lipstick for their night out with Lois and Clark. He dabbed a little scent on his neck from each of his two bottles of cologne before he stepped into the bedroom, slipping into his dress shirt as he went. The sound of a drawer opening and closing drifted into the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously as she watched him re-enter the small space and replace the bottles in the medicine cabinet.

Jim shrugged his shoulders in response. "I just put on some cologne and picked out a tie, why?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you always wear two at once?"

"Yes…come on, don't look at me like that! I like to have a distinctive scent when I go out!"

"Uh huh…" she replied, choosing to ignore his odd proclivity even though she found it endearing. "So, how much time before we have to leave?" she called out to him as she continued applying her make-up.

"Ten minutes if you want to be on time, fifteen if we're going to be fashionably late."

"We don't _do_ fashionably late in Smallville, Jim; I'll be ready in five," she called out as she put her earrings on. He pulled on his suit jacket before reaching for her overcoat draped across his bed just as she walked through the open bathroom door.

"Well, how do I look?" she asked, twirling in her royal blue, crepe dress.

"You look as pretty as you did the day I first met you," he replied without hesitation. The compliment made her blush and she turned around, slipping her arms into the coat he held open for her.

"Thanks…now let me just grab my purse and we'll be all set. Don't forget the gift!"

"I won't," he replied, picking up the wrapped box and tucking it under one arm while simultaneously looping his camera case around his neck. He grabbed two pieces of her luggage, "Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off at the airport after dinner? It's not a problem."

"No, it's alright." She waved him off with one hand before snatching up the remaining bag of computer equipment and her clutch, "It's easier if Lois and Clark take me, since the cab will be heading in that direction anyway. Besides, I haven't had much of a chance to catch up with them on this trip."

"That's fine, Honey. We'd better get going," he informed her, holding the door open with his foot so she could ease herself out into the hallway.

They arrived at Lois and Clark's apartment twenty minutes later, meeting General and Mrs. Lane in the lobby. "Hello, Sir, Ma'am," Jimmy said upon entering the elevator with them. "Chloe, this is General and Mrs. Lane, Lois' parents. General, Ma'am, this is Chloe Sullivan, my girlfriend. You met her at the wedding last June, remember?"

Ella nodded and grasped Chloe's shoulder warmly, as the younger woman's hands were full. "Of course, Dear! How are you? It's so nice to see you again," the older woman exclaimed graciously.

"It's nice to see you too—both of you! How have you been?"

"Oh you know, a new baby in the family and we couldn't be happier! It's so nice to be asked to baby-sit, isn't it, Sam?" she asked, prodding her husband in the ribs.

"What? Oh yes, very nice watching the little ones," he said, nodding absently.

* * *

Clark heard them getting off the elevator and making their way down the hall. "Honey, are you almost ready? Your folks are here to watch the kids, and Jimmy and Chloe are with them."

"Just a sec!" she called out as she emerged from the bedroom, slipping on her heels as she went. "Why couldn't you have landed in October so we could celebrate your 'birthday' then?" she asked him flippantly as she made her way toward the living room. "I could've lost all the baby weight by then!"

Clark took the opportunity to glance over his wife adoringly before their guests had a chance to descend upon them. "Lois, I love you no matter the shape of your body. I loved you before the baby, I loved you during the pregnancy, and here I am, loving you now not only because of how you look but for all the amazing things that you do. You will _always_ look lovely to me…don't you agree, Jason? Doesn't your Mom look pretty tonight?" he asked as their son sped into the room to stand next to Haley in her baby swing, holding a colorful toy out in front of her.

"Yep," he added nonchalantly, not helping the situation any. Lois rolled her eyes at her husband as he helped her into her coat just as their guests came knocking at the door.

"Happy Birthday!" Ella, Jimmy and Chloe exclaimed as the tall, young man opened the door. The General simply gave him a tight smile and nodded.

"Thank you!" he replied with his trademark, goofy grin as he ushered everyone into the apartment.

Chloe was immediately drawn to the baby swing to coo at her new niece. Extending Clark's present out to him, she added "You might want to open this now; I have it on good authority that you need it." He opened the gift as she gathered the baby up in her arms; Ella and the General talked quietly with Lois and Jason.

"You guys, it's perfect! I wonder whose idea this was…" Clark exclaimed, holding the empty photo album out so Lois could inspect it.

"I really have no idea," Chloe replied innocently as the two old friends looked playfully over at Jimmy.

"What can I say, I'm a man of few interests," he replied, shrugging his shoulders and clutching his camera case.

"Alright, well, what do you say we leave your luggage over here, Clo, and then we'll head over to the Biltmore. Ella, General, you have all our numbers in case of an emergency, right?"

Lois' father nodded gravely while Ella 'pooh-poohed' her son-in-law, stepping forward to take the baby from Chloe. "Now don't you two worry about a thing, we know perfectly well how to care for our own grandchildren. Go out and have a nice dinner…"

"Just don't stay out too late," the General grumbled from where he sat next to Jason, watching the young boy color a picture.

"DAD!" Lois cried out.

"Don't worry, Sir, we won't. Thanks again!" Clark interjected quickly as he ushered everyone out into the hallway and on their way to the restaurant before Lois could get another word in edgewise.

* * *

Dinner went well, Clark didn't have to duck out with any unusual excuses, and the four friends were able to sit back, relax, and enjoy each other's company for the first time in a long while.

"So, CK, how's 35 treating you so far?" Jimmy asked as sipped his wine.

"Oh you know…so far so good. _Much_ better than 33, but 34 was none-to-shabby, if I do say so myself," he remarked, trying to pass it off as a joke. Chloe and Lois fixed him with identical glares indicating that they were NOT amused by the vague reference to his disappearance; Jimmy remained oblivious to the entire non-verbal exchange.

"Riiight…" a silence settled uncomfortably over the table as Jimmy's voice trailed off.

After the waiter cleared their empty plates, Chloe decided to share her good news with her companions. "Well, since everyone's gathered round and in high spirits, I have some news I'd like to share."

"You do?" her boyfriend asked curiously. She nodded her head and the others seated at the table leaned in interestedly to hear what she had to say.

"I've been offered a job with the 'Metropolan' and I think I'm going to take it, so it looks like I'll be moving back to the City soon!!" she squealed with delight.

Lois and Clark sat opposite her, positively thrilled by the news, while Jimmy sat motionless at her side looking as though he'd just been blindsided by a freight train.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Russell Insurance, East Side Slums, **_**November 2, 1983. **"It's bad, isn't it, Dad?" Aaron nearly leapt out of his chair in shock at his son's question. He thought he'd been alone in the office and hadn't heard Leroy come in. His heart hammered in his chest as he regarded his son on the other side of the desk.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

The young man shrugged his broad shoulders and folded his 6' frame into a chair opposite his father. "I don't know, a few minutes maybe? But that doesn't answer my question: it's bad, isn't it?"

Aaron's hazel eyes met his son's identical, piercing gaze and he knew he couldn't withhold the truth from him. "Yes, Son, it is." He slid the paperwork across the desk for Leroy to examine; there had been two more fires since Yasmin's had gone up in smoke and both were covered by his father's business. Aaron sighed quietly, "Joseph's meeting with the fire investigators now; they're thinking it's arson."

"Arson? But who would do that? And why us?" Leroy asked aloud while his eyes belied his genuine concern. _Why the Slums?_ His father knew what he meant.

"I don't know," Aaron's eyebrows drew together in agitation, "I don't know and I wish I did, because then we could stop this son of a bit—…" his voice trailed off as his ire peaked, leaving his thoughts half-finished. "It's tough watching clients—friends really—lose everything they've worked so hard for in the blink of an eye, and to have three clients in two months? That's even harder." He rested his forearms on the desk and leaned in closer to his son, adding quietly, "I may even have to let Joseph go, I can't afford to keep paying his salary if this keeps up."

Leroy nodded his head, his lips drawn in a tight, thin line as he silently pushed the cost estimates for the fire damage back toward his father.

"But now that the police and the firefighters know it's an arsonist, they'll be on the look-out for him, and hopefully catch him before he ruins any more businesses," Aaron added optimistically.

_I hope so too, Dad, I really do, for all our sakes…but something tells me this isn't over yet…_

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**April 19, 2009. **Jimmy stared, slack-jawed and motionless, at his girlfriend; only Clark registered that he was still breathing.

"I'm sorry, _what_ did you just say?" he asked sharply.

"I was offered a job at the 'Metropolan'; I'm going to take it and move back to the City," Chloe answered, wondering why he looked so upset at her happy news.

Jimmy turned to Lois and Clark. "Would you excuse us a minute…Chloe, may I speak with you in private?" he asked, sounding deadly serious. His _Planet_ colleagues had never seen him so agitated and they nodded dumbly at his terse request.

Chloe eyed her friends worriedly as she placed her napkin on the table and rose from her seat. Lois shrugged helplessly when Jim fairly stormed from the room; Chloe shot Clark a warning look not to eavesdrop before following her irate boyfriend.

"Don't even think about it," Lois stated as her husband started to open his mouth once their friends were halfway across the dining room.

"But I…"

"No."

"They may…"

"No."

"_Lo-is_, you're not even…"

"No, Clark, I'm not _even_ going to let you finish that sentence. They need to work this out for themselves and that means no super-best friends butting their heads in and meddling around, understand? Whatever this is, you can't work it out for them."

He attempted to speak once more but snapped his jaw shut when he caught his wife's eye; he nodded silently at her, acquiescing to their friend's wishes. They sat there, holding hands and talking quietly about inane topics, all the while hoping for a swift resolution to whatever was plaguing their friends.

* * *

Jimmy only slowed once he passed the hostess' table; he led Chloe into the waiting area before facing her and speaking up. "We've spent the last, what, almost 48 hours together and you didn't think to tell me this before now? Were you even _going_ to tell me? Or were you planning to move to Metropolis and date me only one weekend a month while having a laugh at my expense? Are you ashamed of me or something, that you couldn't tell me this before springing it on us at Clark's birthday dinner?"

"It's not like that, Jim—you're blowing it _way_ out of proportion."

"Oh I am, am I? Well why don't you set the record straight for me then?" he asked flippantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and fixing her with a look.

She put a hand on her hip and glared back at him. "I only _just_ received the message about the job yesterday morning, and I haven't even had a chance to call my friend Arthur back yet. Besides, I hadn't decided whether or not I was even going to take the job until today. And, for the record, I am NOT ashamed of you."

He was still fuming. "So even after that jerk, Ringworm, came on to you and torpedoed you at your last interview, you'd still work for that magazine?!"

"Ringgold, his name was Ryan Ringgold, and he got caught with his pants down—literally—which is why they called me back. But to answer your question: absolutely YES, I am seriously considering working there given the 'Metropolan's' reputation! Did you honestly think you could _stop_ me from taking a job?!"

"No, I would NEVER hold you back in your career; I thought you knew me better than that by now! The only reason why I'm as shocked as I am is because, had I known there was even the _slightest _chance you'd find work so soon in the City, I would have asked you to move in with me and then taken you out to celebrate!" he cried out, drawing curious looks from the two hostesses behind the podium.

Chloe's tense body went slack at the news. "You would have what?" she whispered.

"I would have taken you out on the town and asked you to move in with me!" he said again.

"Oh."

"Right. But now…now I'm not so sure of where we're headed. I mean—I don't get it, Chloe! It's all two steps forward and three steps back for us, isn't it? I should've seen this coming…" he muttered.

"Now what's _that_ supposed to mean?" she asked indignantly, her temper flaring up again at his off-hand remark.

"You trusted me enough to tell me about your mother; then, when you got belligerently drunk afterward you only trusted _Clark_ to get you home safe and sound. I tell you I love you and you freak out as if I'd told you I had some weird, communicable disease. You couldn't bring yourself to call me for FOUR DAYS afterward to tell me what you were thinking about what I'd said. And I've had the _best_ two days of my life with you yesterday and today, yet you still couldn't tell me that you'd been offered your dream job! What am I supposed to think?" He flopped down on the leather sofa behind him, staring away from her with his chin petulantly propped in his palm.

Chloe stood before him, uncertain of how to respond to the conclusions he'd drawn.

"Jimmy, I…" she paused, realizing sadly that she only had herself to blame for their predicament. His continued avoidance of her gaze compelled her to move and she hesitantly seated herself next to him on the couch. "I never meant to upset you with the way I've acted—if anything I was only trying to protect myself. In the past, I've been hurt so many times by men… by Blake when I told him about my Mother, by my college boyfriend when I told him I loved him… even _Clark_ hurt me once, years ago, and it took a long time for us to regain the trust that we share now." That last bit of information caused Jimmy to turn and face her; he and most of his colleagues at the _Daily Planet_ thought, however erroneously, that the geeky reporter could do no wrong.

"I'm so used to keeping things close to the vest, to being independent and on my own; I never even realized how selfish I was being or how dramatically this news would impact you too. You've been really patient and understanding all this time and I've kept you at arm's length, expecting you to be like every other guy I've ever dated. Jimmy, I'm sorry…I…I wasn't even aware that that's what I was doing until now, but that's exactly what it was."

Jimmy sighed, his resentment not wholly gone or forgotten. "I'm not trying to pressure you or rush you in this relationship—I will go as slow or as fast as you want—all I'm asking is that you try to trust ME. I'm not the enemy here. You're an amazing woman and I want to be with you but I don't want to keep paying for other men's mistakes." He put his palm against her cheek where a salty trickle just slid down.

"I don't deserve y—" she started to say, before he put a finger to her lips.

"Shhh…"

"But I'm sorr—"

"Stop…"

"But…"

"No buts; I'm putting a moratorium on the s-word for the rest of the evening. Both of us should have been more forthcoming about how we were feeling, end of discussion." He paused and waited for her to look him in the eye before slowly wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a reassuring hug. When they'd both managed to calm down a bit he moved back, holding onto her shoulders and saying, "There's still so much more that we need to talk about, but now isn't the time. Lois and Clark are probably getting worried, so what do you say we put this aside and head back to the table…the old guy'll probably need all the help he can get blowing out all the birthday candles out on his cake," he said quietly, winking at her. She threw her arms around him again and kissed him in response. "Well, alright then," he said, helping her up to her feet as the crimson color rose in his cheeks. They walked hand-in-hand back to the table and their waiting friends.

* * *

Clark caught sight of their beaming faces and was the first to respond, hoping to put the argument quickly behind all of them. "W-we ordered coffees for you guys but we weren't sure about dessert…" he started to say, just as a gaggle of waiters approached the table, singing and carrying a small chocolate cake laden with candles. Chloe and Jimmy took their seats and joined in the singing, laughing at Clark's embarrassment over all the fuss being made in his honor.

"Uh…t-thanks!" he told the wait-staff, giving another one of his dorky waves. Inhaling deeply, he managed to extinguish all 35 candles in one go, inadvertently pushing the cake a little closer to Jimmy in the process. The young photographer looked at his friend in awe as Clark hastened to push his glasses back up his nose with a finger.

"Whoa, that's some wind power you've got going on there!"

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Oh you know… its n-nothing special…" he replied, and without another word he picked up the knife to cut the cake.

* * *

Chloe and Jimmy parted company in front of the restaurant; Lois and Clark waited for her in the cab as she said good-bye to her boyfriend. Soon she climbed into the backseat, her breath hitching a little in her throat, and Clark turned to face her as they pulled away from the curb.

"I swear I wasn't listening," he said, watching her concernedly as she blotted her eyes with the tip of her coat sleeve, "But are you sure everything's ok?"

Lois put a hand on her friend's arm, causing Chloe to look at her and let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah you guys, everything's ok…we still need to talk about stuff, but I promised I would call him first thing tomorrow morning before getting in touch with the 'Metropolan'." Lois gave her a curious look. "Oh no, it's nothing like that, Lois; I'm not going to make such an important decision based on Jimmy's say-so—and you should know me better than to think that—but this decision affects the both of us and there are things we need to discuss about where our relationship is going before I call my the magazine and accept."

"Whatever you want, Chloe, we're here to support you," Lois reassured her, rubbing her arm soothingly.

"Was he upset that he couldn't take you to the airport himself?" Clark asked, concerned that keeping his secret was putting her relationship with Jimmy at risk. He'd explained to her earlier that getting her out of the airport would be a lot more difficult then it had been getting her in, and so he'd suggested to her that she use the excuse of having Clark drop her off because it was in the same direction, when really it made little difference at all. Now the guilt of potentially causing another rift in his friends' relationship began to eat away at him.

"No, Clark, he was alright with that."

"Ok… if you're sure…"

"I'm sure."

"That'll be 12.80," the driver said, pulling up alongside their building. Clark paid the man and unfurled himself from the front seat of the cab, opening the door for the ladies and helping them out onto the sidewalk.

"Well, we better not waste any more time," Lois remarked, making straight for the front door. "The longer the General's off Base the antsier he gets."

"Really?" Chloe asked dryly. "I hadn't noticed." This remark sent all three friends howling with laughter as they climbed into the waiting elevator cabin and rode up to the fourteenth floor.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**April 20, 2009.** "Hey Chloe," Jimmy answered as he casually lifted the phone receiver off his desk at work.

Chloe spluttered on her coffee on the other end, having expected the phone to ring at least once more. "What the…? Hey! How'd you know it was me?"

"I just knew…so, you miss me already do ya?" he asked, a wide grin spreading across his face as he tapped a pencil on the desk.

He was giving her snark so she decided to give it right back to him. "Mmm, I don't know… it hasn't even been twelve hours yet, and it usually takes me _at least_ twelve hours before I properly miss someone."

"Is that so? Well then, I guess you'll be putting in a lot of overtime at that fancy new job of yours, that way you can come home every night after having spent the whole day missing me."

She smiled at the way the word 'home' came tumbling out of his mouth so easily. "So you still think it's a good idea then—me moving in with you? I thought that was the whole point of our talk at this un-godly hour in the morning."

Jimmy looked at the large clock across bullpen. "Chloe, it's 9:15, it's not _that_ early."

"Well it's 8:15 here and I _always_ think anything before 10 in the morning is un-godly early. That's why my staff meets at 11 for our daily meeting."

"Oh right, I forgot about the time difference. Good to know about the 10 o'clock part too," he said, mentally storing the information away for future reference.

"Riiight…so, back to my offer from the 'Metropolan'," she said, letting the statement hang in the air. Jimmy stopped tapping his pencil on his desk and straightened in his seat.

"I want to hear your thoughts first before I throw my two cents in," he informed her.

Chloe let out a sigh. "I was up most of the night thinking about this—I hardly got a wink of sleep. I mean, the 'Metropolan' is consistently rated the second best news magazine in the country; only the 'New Yorker' beats it every year and then only marginally…that means a heck of a lot. The fact that they'd pick me, a small town news Editor, to write for them…well I'm quite flattered, especially knowing that I was the first person they called after the Ringgold situation blew up in their faces. On the other hand, I don't want to accept the offer and have them get the wrong idea about me."

"And what wrong idea would that be?"

"I'm afraid they're only calling me up out of the minor leagues because they're in such a mess with the double-firing that they feel that things can't get any worse, and then they'll fire me once they find a better journalist."

"Ok, first off: listening to you use sports analogies like that is _such_ a turn-on…"

"Duly noted," she said with a smirk, "And second?"

"You're not a novice journalist, Chloe; I've seen your work, and I'm honestly surprised you haven't tried to move back to the City before now, or even tried to get a job here at the _Planet_. Don't get me wrong or anything—I mean Clark's good and all, but he's obviously the protégé to your master—not that I'm a genius when it comes to writing well, but it's clear to me that you guys have similar writing styles. He must have picked it up from you is what I'm _trying_ to say."

"Aww, thanks Jimmy! Just don't let Clark hear you saying that or he'll be less than thrilled," she told him, grinning impishly at the fact that their super-friend was probably listening in right now trying to figure out whether or not she was going to take the job. The thought didn't bother her as much as it could have since she knew that, with his superior hearing he couldn't help it most of the time; he'd explained to her once, years ago, how certain sounds tended to jump out—especially familiar ones, like the voices or heartbeats of close family and friends.

Jimmy craned his neck around and found the man in question typing away hunched over his keyboard, seemingly oblivious to everything. "Don't worry, I won't. And lastly, they're calling you in because you're the real deal and not some AAA player with something to prove by making it into the 'big leagues'. They're screwed with this double-firing, they _know_ they're screwed and they're calling you up because they know you can fix this. You're their closer, Chloe…now all you have to do is seal the deal. That is, if that's what _you_ want to do."

He listened to her inhale deeply and imagined her wandering around her apartment in her pj's and bathrobe, sorting through her own thoughts on the subject. After some time she finally spoke up. "I think…I think I'll give Arthur a call and let him know I'm interested, but I'll do it my own, special way."

"Ok, then I think it's a good idea too," he added, smiling.

"You know, they're probably going to want me to start right away…" she said slowly.

"Uh-huh…"

"Most likely the second week in May or so…I mean, they'd know that I would need to give my two weeks notice here in Smallville and then pack up my stuff, drive all the way out there, find a place…"

"Chloe," he said, stopping her mid-sentence. "I know you thought that it was just playful banter earlier but it wasn't; the offer still stands if you want to move in with me. But if you don't, if that's moving too fast for you, then I'll understand too…" He waited on bated breath for her answer, having never asked a woman to move in with him before, and he stared hard at the phone in front of him subconsciously willing her to say 'yes'. Jimmy didn't know it, but Clark was staring just as intently at him at that moment. _Oh God, I really am becoming a super-eavesdropper, _the Man of Steel thought self-deprecatingly as he waited anxiously to hear his friend's answer.

Chloe stopped picking pieces of lint off her robe as she paced, listening to Jimmy's heavy breathing on the other end of the line. She'd never had a man ask her to move in before but somehow, somewhere deep inside, she knew that this was right—that moving in with him felt like the right thing to do. Still, she couldn't help but tease him a little with her trademark sarcasm when she finally responded. "Ok…" she replied slowly, before adding, "But Jim, you have to promise me there'll be some changes..."

"Changes?" he squeaked, fearing he was about to regret making his offer.

"Yep. You have to promise me, no more women. I'm not going to be your once-a-month gal anymore," she said teasingly, laughing softly on the other end of the line.

"Sweetheart, you _know_ you're my one and only…" he told her honestly, grinning and shaking his head at how nervous she'd made him. He glanced over at the clock again. "And with that, I have to go, our staff meeting is about to start. I miss you… make sure to call tonight and let me know how things went with the 'Metropolan', ok?"

Chloe bit her lower lip to fight back the tears of joy in her eyes, wishing she was in Metropolis instead of in her kitchen in Smallville at that moment. "Uh-huh, I will. And Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"I miss you too, twelve hours or no."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **There is some swearing done on behalf of one of the minor characters in this chapter; it's not excessive, nor is it entirely out of context, but it's there nonetheless. Just letting you know in advance…

* * *

_**Russell Insurance, East Side Slums**_**, November 25, 1983. **Joseph had seen the writing on the wall and spared his boss the pain of having to give him a pink slip by resigning before the Thanksgiving holiday. Aaron was sorry to see his employee go but he knew the young man would be alright. Joseph was in his early thirties, a bright, hard worker and without a wife or children; he'd find some temporary, seasonal work until after the New Year before landing something more permanent without much difficulty. Aaron also assured him that he would give a glowing recommendation to any prospective employers when they called.

Leroy helped his father after school that Friday, moving Joseph's old desk across the street to the tailor who'd bought it. He did it quietly and without assistance, taking the plain, white envelope of cash in exchange for his cargo; he made his way back across the street to the office to unobtrusively place it on his father's desk. Leroy didn't stay, he just left the money there, threw on his jacket and went home while his father lingered absently over the coffeemaker. He and his mother both knew how hard this day had been for his father, and they had agreed to make things as easy as possible for him.

Aaron missed dinner that night, scaring Rose out of her wits. Leroy set out to look for him around 11 that evening but he didn't have to travel far; he found him slumped in the stairwell between the fifth and sixth floors, discombobulated and with the heavy scent of liquor on his breath. Without a word, he draped his father's right arm across his broad shoulders and hauled him up onto his feet before half-leading, half-carrying him up to their apartment. Rose instantly recognized her husband's inebriated state and swiftly helped him out of his jacket, handing it off to her son before bustling her wayward husband into bed.

The small family never spoke of that day ever again.

* * *

_**Metropolis**_**, April 20, 2009, 10:47 AM. **Arthur Cheswick paced behind his desk, waiting for the phone to ring. _What the hell, Chloe?!_ he thought to himself, recalling the eagerness for the job his college friend had displayed just a few months back. _Don't you ever check your voicemail anymore? For crying out loud!!_ He resumed his pacing.

_Maybe I should call her again? It went straight to her in-box on Friday—perhaps something happened to her phone and she didn't get the message? _He stopped in his tracks, pondering this latest development. _No, the Chloe Sullivan I know would have a back-up phone just in case. She got the message, she's just making me squirm. UGH!!_

The telephone on his desk rang out loudly, making him jump into the air before lunging for the phone. As best he could manage he answered in a composed voice, "Good morning, Metropolan News Magazine, Arthur Cheswick speaking."

"Artie!" Chloe's voice rang out from the other end of the line. "How are you?"

He stared at the computer screen before him, mentally noting her overly cheerful tone. _Oh she is going to make me pay through the nose for what happened in February…_Playing right into her hands, he responded, "I'm very well, thanks for asking. I take it you got my message?"

_That's right, play it cool, Artie, just like I knew you would…_"Oh yes, I did, and I'm sorry I couldn't get back to you sooner."

He brushed her words off with a wave of his hand. "No no, it's quite alright, I knew you'd call when you could. So…have you given our offer any thought?"

"I have."

Arthur waited on the other end of the line for an elaboration; finding none, he moved the phone away from his ear and shook it before checking to see if it was still working. "Are you there? I think our connection went out."

"No, it didn't," she informed him simply.

"Well…?"

"I won't be taking the job."

He started coughing violently. "WHAT?!"

Chloe didn't need to be in Metropolis to picture his reaction; she'd spent enough nights working alongside Artie in college, putting the school paper to bed, to know how far his eyes would be bugging out of his head right now. _All part of my plan…_she thought to herself, grinning madly.

_No, she can't be serious, she can't be doing this to me, this job is what she wanted…if she really means it we are in some seriously deep sh—…_

"Artie, you still there?"

He took a quick sip of water as his mouth had gone completely dry with the news. "You know I hate that nickname…and yes, I'm still here. If you don't mind my asking, what changed your mind? You really wanted to be a part of the team back in February."

"Ahh, yes, well that was before I realized that the team consisted of sexist-adulterist pigs."

_Damn you Ryan!!_ In an overly cheerful tone all his own, he replied, "Well rest assured, Ryan Ringgold was the lone bad apple in our basket here and he's been taken out of the equation, so how about it? The editors here are still impressed with your writing, and I know personally how dedicated you are in your current position at the _Tribune_, not to mention how much you want to be back in Metropolis again…are you sure there's nothing I can say that might change your mind?"

Chloe paused on the other end of the line, as if giving his request careful consideration. "You could try apologizing to me for so readily taking his side in all this…I don't know what kind of bull he fed you about me after our interview, but I'm your friend and you should've known me better than to trust a word he said!" she exclaimed through clenched teeth, her resentment finally getting the better of her.

He let out a weary sigh. "You're right, I should've given you the benefit of the doubt, we are friends…but, Chloe, you have to understand something. I've known you for fourteen years now, and in the last twelve I've only seen you a handful of times. Sure we keep in touch over the phone and through e-mail and stuff, but it's not the same. With Ryan—well, I worked side-by-side with him every day for the last eight years! I had no reason _not_ to believe him and when he told me that while your writing was impressive your attitude was 'unprofessional'. I thought that maybe all your years as Editor of the _Smallville Tribune_ had made you soft…heck, I wouldn't have even believed him capable of cheating on Deborah if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes!"

"Wait, _you're_ the one who caught him in the act?!"

"Yes! Why do you think I was so quick to call you back when the news broke?"

Chloe took a deep breath. "So you admit that you were wrong then? To take his side, I mean."

"Yes, wholly and freely! I screwed up almost as badly as Ryan! Believe me you have no idea how sorry I am …"

She dropped the ruse. "So you need me that badly, huh?"

He noted the change in tone and realized their game of cat and mouse had come to an end. "Yeah, we do. Ringgold fucked up, he fucked up badly and if we don't get someone talented in here to fill the City section vacancy soon then the quality of the 'Metropolan' is really going to suffer…"

She stopped him mid-sentence, having made him suffer enough. "I can start on Monday, May 11th at the salary that was discussed before, and I need 5,000 dollars extra to help me move that quickly cross-country. Do we have a deal?"

Arthur let out a small grin. "And here I thought you were going to make me sweat for it…" he said, slipping back into their old familiar banter.

"Me? Ha!" she smiled at how easily they fell back into synch after not having worked together for so many years.

"Alright, I'll talk to the higher-ups and fax the paperwork out to you later, but I believe we have a deal. And Chloe?"

"Uh huh?"

"Thanks. I know you wanted this too, but you're really bailing me out here."

"Oh I know…and don't think I'm going to let you forget it anytime soon. Bye now!" she replied, hanging up the phone.

He pulled the receiver away from his ear, hung his head and groaned. _Knowing her, she'll make my own grandchildren pay for this…_ he lamented.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**April 20, 2009. **Jimmy grabbed the vibrating cell phone off the counter that evening and answered it hastily.

"Well, did you take the job or didn't you?"

"What job?" an older woman's voice asked on the other end.

"Mom?"

"James, I thought I taught you better than to answer the phone like that…now who did you think I was?"

"Oh, well, um…I thought, that is…she was supposed to call…"

"She?" Cheryl Olsen asked in an omniscient and motherly tone. "James, do you have a new girlfriend? And you didn't tell me?!" He sighed as he pictured his strawberry-blond and white haired mother sitting down indignantly in a chair in her living room far away in Connecticut.

"Well I'm sorry, but there's no easy way to say 'Hey Mom, I'm dating again'. Besides, I've been busy with work."

"Oh you're always busy with work, that's no excuse—besides, that wasn't so hard, you telling me just now, was it?"

"Umm…"

"No, see, I was right. Now who is she, what's her name, and how'd you meet her?"

"I'm sure you didn't call to grill me about my love life…" he said, desperately trying to deflect his mother's attention, "Now how are you? And Josh and Jenny and Justin and Jill? I talked to Josh a few weeks ago but he couldn't talk long—said he was under deadline—and Jen called about a month ago to tell me about the wedding plans..."

"He's fine, and when _aren't_ you two boys under deadline? I swear, you work too hard, the both of you…now, your brothers and sisters are all fine and I'll tell you more if you want me to in five minutes…_after_ you tell me about this new girlfriend of yours."

The photographer sighed and grabbed a beer out of his fridge before settling himself down on the couch. "Ok, fine. Her name is Chloe Sullivan, she was the Maid of Honor at my friends' wedding last June, and we kept in touch afterward. I didn't see her again until she called me up when she was back in the City in February and we've been together pretty much ever since."

"What do you mean she was 'back in the City'? Where does she live?"

"She lives in Kansas, but she got a job offer over the weekend back here in Metropolis and might be coming back to stay…I thought you were her calling to say whether or not she'd taken the job for sure."

Jim listened as his mother shifted in her seat on the other end of the line. "I see…and what job would that be?"

"She's a journalist, Mom, and she got offered a job writing for the 'Metropolan News Magazine'."

"Oh my goodness! She must be very talented to get a job with them. I hope she takes them up on their offer; but it'll be hard for her, having to move cross-country and find a place…" her voice trailed off as she became lost in thought.

_I might as well bite the bullet now…_"Actually, I've asked her to move in with me."

Cheryl spluttered into the phone. "But…but…but Jenny and Brian aren't even living together yet, and they're engaged! I haven't even met this woman and you're already asking her to move in with you?! Don't you think that's a little fast, James?"

He thought he would be more flustered by her response but it actually served to bolster his resolve. "Well, Mom, things move a little bit differently here in Metropolis."

"APPARENTLY!" she exclaimed, still very much in shock. "You know, when I was a young woman it was unconscionable to move in with a man until you were married…"

He hastened to cut her off before she launched into a full scale 'back in my day' tirade, especially when it happened to be about her marriage…_Seeing as how that went so well_, he thought wryly. "Was there _another_ reason you called, Mom? Other than to harass me about love life, that is."

"What? Oh…yes…your sister, Jennifer, she wanted to ask you a couple of questions, but she also wanted to know when you could come home to meet Brian. She should be here in a couple minutes to have me help her go over the seating charts one more time…"

"Hold on a sec, I'll take a look at my calendar…" he got up and strode over next to the refrigerator, where his one concession to full-fledged bachelorhood reigned; it was a twelve month calendar with pictures of half-naked girls surrounded by motorcycles and muscle cars…_Man will I be sad to see this go, _he thought with a sigh as he flipped through the pages. In addition to his work at the _Planet_ he noted he had a few freelance gigs lined up for the next several weekends. "The wedding's June 12th, right?"

"Yes it is."

"I hate to have to say this, but I don't think I can make it up there before then."

"Don't tell me it's because you're too busy helping your girlfriend move in…"

"Mom, that's enough! This has nothing to do with Chloe and everything to do with the fact that I'm spending the bulk of the vacation time I have coming to me right now to attend the wedding! Now, would you two rather I met Brian before or after he's legally related to us, because I can only make one trip!!"

"Don't take that tone with me young man…here, talk to your sister." Jim heard his mother cover the mouthpiece with her hand as she stood up to pass the phone to her middle child; he also heard her whisper loudly, "It's your brother…he's got a girlfriend, and she's moving in with him!"

"Josh?" the young woman asked after grabbing hold of the phone. Jim listened to the connection go in and out as she moved around the house.

"No Sis, it's Jimmy. So what's going on, how are you? Wedding stuff getting to you yet?"

She deposited her notebooks and charts and walked through the living and dining rooms toward the kitchen, leaving her mother behind. "Oh, you know, not so much…I'm sure the closer it gets to June, though, the worse I'll be…"

"Nah, you'll be great! Everything will go smoothly, I know it, trust me. Say, did you get in touch with my photographer friend up there? Did he get you a good deal?"

Jennifer smiled at her big brother's concern. "Yeah he did, thanks, Jim. Listen, while you're on the phone and before Mom starts hovering again…"

"Oh geez, look, she's my girlfriend and it's _my_ life! If I want her to move in…"

"No, that's not it, now will you just shut up and listen! Gosh, you're almost as bad as Mom!" she hissed into the phone.

His face dropped before he recognized her joking tone, and decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. "You better take that back, or I might have to show Brian pictures of you in your Spice Girls phase…"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I have the duplicates hidden away here in Metropolis, and should anything happen to me I have friends in high places who will ensure that they go public…" he teased her.

"Fine, you know what? I _was_ going to ask _you _to play a big part in my wedding, but instead I think I'll just ask Josh; sure it'll look like I hired a hippie to escort me down the aisle on my big day, but it's a heck of a lot less hassle than trying to ask you."

That stopped him cold. "Y-you were going to ask _me_ to walk you down the aisle?"

"I was, but then you threatened me with the Spice Girl pictures, and well…" she stopped her teasing mid-sentence, "Of course I was going to ask you! You're my older brother, not to mention all you did for us after Dad left…if anyone deserves to give me away, it's you." Jim listened to her sniffle on the other end of the line.

Jimmy swallowed down his tears as well. "Oh Jen…I'd be happy to escort you down the aisle."

"Thank you!" his sister exclaimed exuberantly into the phone. "I was so afraid you'd say no…"

"Why on Earth would I say no? It's your wedding day! However, I can't make it back to Connecticut before the Big Day to meet Brian—I don't have enough vacation time to make the trip twice. I'll be there two days before though, does that help?"

"Absolutely, that's great, we all know how busy the _Planet_ keeps you…" she readily agreed. "So, you asked your girlfriend to move in with you, huh? That's big, Jim, that's really big…"

"I know, and Mom was about to read me the Riot Act over it, but I care a lot about her…not to mention that you know I wouldn't have asked her without giving it a lot of thought, and…"

"Hey, I know, you don't have to rationalize it to me, you're a big boy…" she started to remind him, before his concentration was interrupted by the beeping of an incoming call.

"Jen? I have to go…I've got another call coming in…"

"Ok, just don't be a stranger, alright? Pick up the phone and call home every once in awhile…" she joked.

"Yes, Mom," he teased back before hanging up. He hit the TALK button in the same instant to answer the other call, but before he could get a word out edgewise an exuberant voice cried out, "I took the job with the 'Metropolan'!!"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I 'borrowed' a scene from the movie "When Harry Met Sally"—and before you ask, no, it isn't the one that you think. If you really know the movie then you'll know the scene when you read it; I just wanted to make it clear that I can't take credit for everything in this chapter and that I was inspired by that particular film.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**February 4, 1984. **Leroy moved the last of his belongings into the living room space of the family's new apartment and took a seat on the sleeper sofa; the same sleeper sofa that he would pull out and use for his bed an hour from now. He and his parents had spent that day moving out of their ninth floor apartment on the edge of Metropolis' seediest neighborhood and into a one-bedroom basement apartment right in the heart of it.

Seven fires had swept through Slum-based businesses in the last six months, and five of those businesses were insured through Russell Insurance. By the time of the fourth fire it became clear that an arsonist was running amuck on the streets of the City's downtrodden and poor, but there was little that could be done about it that the police and firefighters weren't already doing. They were investigating the M.O. of the arsonist, trying to find a connection amongst the businesses targeted, but all around they were coming up empty-handed. The charred remains of a salon, a corner market, two liquor stores, a bookstore and two pawn shops stood out like empty teeth in the Slums crumbly, yellow smile. Only one store had chosen to re-open, the others took their money and ran as far away from the broken-down crime-ridden neighborhood as quickly as they could.

After the business owners, the Russell family was hit hardest by the arsonist's actions. To have five relatively big clients need recuperative pay-outs all in a six month period…Leroy shook his head at the thought of what the fire starter was doing to his father's business before he hung his head in his hands. Aaron had managed to keep his tiny family afloat until the December 24th fire at the bookstore, and it was only _after_ the holiday that he informed his wife and son that they'd have to find a smaller and cheaper place to live.

The girls' were all grown up and on their own now and had been for sometime; they tried to help their parents and baby brother when they could, but even they weren't much better off, financially speaking. The Russell family sold what possessions weren't absolutely necessary on a day-to-day basis and took the cheapest apartment with hot running water and a roof that they could find. It was a step away from living on the streets and they all knew it, but no one breathed a word.

Leroy had once broached the subject of getting a job to his father, but Aaron wouldn't hear of it.

"Your job is school and that's final, you understand me? The only way you're ever going to get ahead and get out of this is with an education. Hopefully you'll get a scholarship to Met. U. when you graduate and there you can really make something of yourself, you can be somebody and get out of here. But until that day comes _I'll_ worry about the bills and _you'll_ worry about the grades, you got that?" Aaron asked, pointing at him from across the kitchen table to ensure that he drove the point home.

And he had…sort of. Leroy had gone to Luciano's market in early January to see if the old Italian had a weekend stockboy position open, one where he could unload boxes in a back room without the fear of being caught at it by his father. Pasquale readily agreed to take 'Little Leroy' on, and the young man slipped off with the flimsy excuse of "library", handing the meager extra income over to his mother without his father ever becoming the wiser; not only that, but his grades didn't suffer for the work either. If anything, it made the young man focus more intently on his studies in what downtime was available to him.

Still, money was tight for the Russell family in the wake of the arsonist's fires, and it caused Leroy to resent every green dollar he earned for the magnificent power it wielded over his family's future safety and security.

* * *

_**Smallville, **_**May 7, 2009. **"Thanks again for letting me hide out here, Mrs. Kent," Chloe said as she embraced the older woman. "And for letting me stash the rental van in your barn," she quickly added.

"Oh don't mention it, Dear," Martha replied, dismissing the young woman's gratitude with a wave of her hand. "I'm just glad that you didn't have to make that long drive all by yourself and that you decided to spend a few days keeping a silly, old woman company. You know—I'm going to miss you when you're off in the big city…just remember that you're only a holler away from a home-cooked meal if you ever want one. You're just as welcome here as Clark is," she added, nodding toward her son standing nearby in his red, yellow and blue suit.

Chloe hugged the older woman again, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you again, Mrs. Kent…for _everything_," she murmured, trying to incorporate half a lifetime's worth of gratitude into the simple statement. Martha felt a tug at her heart; she'd always looked out for her son's mother-less, inquisitive friend and she definitely hadn't known that Chloe had been aware of the extra attention the whole time. Now they stood there, face-to-face, sniffling, and she felt as if she were watching her own daughter head off into the big, wide world.

Clark coughed politely. "Um, Chloe? I think we'd better get going before Jimmy paces through the floorboards and you don't have an apartment to live in anymore."

"Right…" she said, wiping her eyes and moving from Martha's embrace over to her friend. He scooped her up, mentioning to his mother that he'd be back in fifteen minutes for the moving van.

Their flight was relatively uneventful; Clark could hear her heart fluttering wildly in her chest—whether it was in sadness over what she was leaving behind or nervous excitement over what lay ahead, he didn't know.

She was startled from her quiet reverie when his deep voice fairly rumbled through her small body as he spoke up for the first time since leaving. "I'm going to drop you off at a rest stop just outside the City before I go back for the van; that way we can ride into town together. Don't worry, I'll get out before we get to Jimmy's."

She swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "Geez, what is it with you and avoiding me when I'm with him?! You act as if we're going to start ripping each other's clothes off right in front of you!"

The blush nearly reached his ears at the suggestion. "Oh my, you have _such_ a way with words! You should be a reporter, you know that?" he joked lightly before turning serious. "Anyhow, that's not the reason I try to get the heck outta Dodge; it's just that I know what it's like being with the one you," he paused a moment, choosing his words carefully, "_care about_ after a long absence and I don't want you guys to think that I'm intruding or overstaying my welcome."

Chloe rolled her eyes and stared at him as they began their descent. "I appreciate the concern Clark, but if we want to be alone, we'll let you know. Besides, if it weren't for you and Lois there wouldn't be a 'me and Jimmy' to worry about! So just know that you're both welcome anytime."

"Thanks."

He set her down gently behind the rest stop, making sure no one else was around, and waited until she was safely seated inside before lifting off and speeding back to Smallville.

Martha didn't hear her son return, but she did discover that the barn door had been left slightly ajar the following morning. "Clark! You were raised _on_ a farm—not in the barn itself! How many times do I have to remind you to close the door behind you?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head exasperatedly and rolling her eyes. _My son can move mountains but he can't close a simple latch…_She pushed the irony to the back of her mind and whistled quietly under her breath as she began the day's work.

* * *

The next day Clark held the baby carrier in his arms while Lois hefted the diaper bag over her slender shoulder. The three of them made their way down the block to where the moving van sat prominently by the sidewalk and Haley stared wide-eyed at the bright, sunny world around her; it had already been quite an exciting day for her, first with her trip to the elementary school to drop off her older brother, and now as she accompanied her parents to help get her Aunt moved in.

"Now Clark," his wife hastened to remind him. "Don't go lifting anything too heavy on your own. We're going to be spending a lot more time with Jimmy now that he and Chloe are living together, both in and out of the office, and we don't want him to get suspicious."

"I didn't rouse any suspicion when I helped you move in, did I?" he asked her playfully.

She thought back to the day when Jimmy and Clark had helped her and Jason move into the new apartment after leaving the house on Riverside Drive. "Only when you had to dash off in the middle of the afternoon, otherwise no, you didn't."

"I didn't think so…although you have _no_ idea how badly I wanted to fly your sofa through the living room window. Two seconds—in, out, done. But noooo…it took me and Jimmy _thirty-five_ minutes to get it up those ridiculous stairs…I was ready to hurl that thing into space by the time we were through! Thank goodness you sold it before we got married."

Lois shrugged her shoulders and gave a little laugh. "Hey now, you only have yourself to blame. If I had known that you _could_ get the sofa into the apartment single-handedly, I would have let you."

He rolled his eyes. "I know, I know…how long are you going to keep reminding me how foolish I was to keep my secret from _you_?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe all the rest of our days?" she replied teasingly.

Clark bent over to kiss her on the lips. "Fair enough."

"Hey you guys!" Chloe called out from halfway down the block, waving her hand in the air. She and Jimmy were dressed in jeans, old t-shirts and sneakers, already attacking the boxes stacked in the back of the mid-sized moving van. "Where's my favorite niece?" the young woman asked enthusiastically, practically bouncing over to peer into the baby carrier. Jimmy followed right behind her.

"Wow…" he said, completely awed. It had been some weeks since he'd seen the littlest Kent, and she quickly locked her blue gaze onto the unfamiliar face. A wave of déjà vu stole over him. "Her eyes," he said, "I feel like I've seen them somewhere before…"

Lois and Chloe both looked at Clark, slightly alarmed. The tall man stood uncomfortably on the sidewalk, tugging at the neck of his long-sleeved shirt and nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, afraid that his infant daughter had inadvertently betrayed his secret. Before he could think of something to say, Lois jumped in. "Oh, well, you know," she said with a casual wave of her hand, "they probably remind you of Jason's." The photographer thought about that a moment before concluding that she was right.

"May I hold her?" Chloe asked, looking up expectantly into Clark's face. He nodded before placing the seat gently on the back of the moving van and unbuckling the clasps that held her in. The little girl was transferred into her aunt's arms without incident and Chloe stood on the sidewalk swaying back and forth, cooing at her niece. "She is just _so_ precious…" she gushed. Large smiles broke out on both of the proud parents' faces at their friend's observation.

Lois shifted the diaper bag to her other shoulder and took the empty car seat. "Chloe, why don't you and I head on up to the apartment and get the baby situated, then we can direct traffic while the boys do all the heavy lifting?" she suggested, winking at her husband. The women headed up together, leaving the two men to size up the mid-sized moving van crammed with boxes. Most of the boxes had the word 'BOOKS' printed on them.

"I'm going to need to see a chiropractor come tomorrow morning, aren't I?" Jimmy asked jokingly, looking over at his friend.

"You and me both—you and me both."

* * *

The boys had been at it for two hours without stopping; that is, until they re-entered apartment 3B with a coffee table balanced between them.

"Um, Chloe?" Jimmy called out as they set the large, oaken table down. "Why'd you bring this? You knew I already had a coffee table." He glanced over at the piece of furniture in question; he'd bought it off of some Met. U. students several years earlier when he had moved into his first place. "The bottle cap design on the top there is one of a kind."

"I know," she replied, glancing to Lois for support. "But I was thinking that maybe we could merge our stuff together and upgrade to something a little less…bachelor-y?"

"Come on, it isn't _that_ bad! It's got bottle caps from seventy different beers on here, half of them imports—besides, the table still has a lot of good years left in her!" He turned his attention to Clark. "What do you think?"

The tall man stood in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable at being put on the spot like that. "Uh, um, well gee, Jimmy, y-you know, it's not that bad…"

"See! I _knew_ he'd agree with me!" Jimmy crowed.

"…but, it's not that great either," Clark finished. Chloe smirked at her boyfriend's sudden, downcast expression.

Lois quickly ran interference as she transferred her daughter over to Chloe's shoulder. "Why don't Clark and I go get us some sandwiches for lunch…if you don't mind watching Haley for a bit, we'll just pop over to that deli around the corner…"

"Oh sure, no problem." The two _Daily Planet_ reporters quickly slipped out of the apartment as the lovebirds renewed their discussion on the subject of the coffee table. Fifteen minutes later, Lois and Clark were walking up the front steps, arms laden with white paper sacks and drinks, just as Jimmy stalked out of the building with the bottle cap table held awkwardly in his grasp. Above them, Chloe stood by the window with Haley in her arms, watching him take the piece out and place it on the curb with the rest of the trash. The married couple stood quietly on the stoop, eying him as he took one last look at his beloved piece of furniture, before rejoining them to head back up to the apartment.

"Not a word, not one single word…" he warned them as they entered the building together. It took all of their self-control not to snicker at their hapless friend's predicament.

* * *

The boxes were broken down and piled high on the curb; luckily for them, Saturday was trash day. Clark and Lois had gone to collect Jason from school several hours earlier, with the promise that they would all meet up for brunch the following morning. Jimmy stood in the middle of the living room for a full minute, quietly surveying the apartment, while Chloe scampered downstairs to pay the delivery boy for their Chinese food.

What had once been _his_ living room now more closely resembled a library. Chloe had brought seemingly every book she'd ever read with her from Smallville; when Jimmy realized this, he was surprised that the truck hadn't bottomed-out from the weight. She'd brought all of the shelving units to hold the books with her too, and they now completely covered what little space was available. There were even books above, below, and beside the 42" television that dominated one wall.

His DVD collection had also expanded significantly upon Chloe's arrival; Jimmy was pleasantly surprised to find that she was even more of a science fiction aficionado then he was. The kitchen contained a few more pots and pans then it had that morning, and there was now a matching set of dishware in the cupboards and a few placemats should they ever entertain company. He noticed that his girlfriend had also unfurled a long, wine-colored rug down the hallway towards the bedroom and bathroom, making the place feel homier.

Before moving, Chloe had worried about how her presence in the apartment might disrupt Jimmy's normal routine, so she attempted to give their merged living quarters little feminine touches here and there without completely overwhelming the space. He leaned against the bedroom doorway at the end of the hall, examining the re-configured room interestedly. The bed was the same, but they had moved it away from the corner and into the center of the room so that they could fit a nightstand on either side and still get in and out comfortably. She'd brought a long dresser and had placed it on her side of the bed, folding most of her clothing and sticking it in the drawers instead of overwhelming the closet; she'd also hung a mirror on the back of the bedroom door so she could check herself in the morning without occupying too much time in the lone bathroom they'd be sharing.

In the middle of the move, Jimmy had informed her that he'd cleared out half of his closet and two of his four drawers in anticipation of her arrival, unsure of exactly what furniture she'd be bringing with her. What he didn't tell her was that he'd also added a rack inside the shower for her shampoo, conditioner and soap, as well as cleared out the bottom two drawers in the vanity for her other toiletry needs. Chloe had seen all of this earlier that afternoon when she draped some new, fluffy, white towels on the rack in the bathroom, and she was extremely touched by his thoughtfulness.

She set the bag of Chinese food down on the kitchen counter and came up behind her distracted boyfriend, gently wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her nose in his soft shirt.

"Hey…" he said softly, turning to face her and wrapping his arms around her. "I didn't hear you come back in."

"I was in stealth mode," she replied, moving her arms so that they draped his neck. She leaned in for a long, deep kiss—one that left them both feverish. When they parted, Chloe backed away a bit and looked straight into his eyes; she could no longer deny to herself the pure love that she saw brimming there. "What do you say we have some dinner and then call it an early night? You must be famished after all that heavy lifting…" she skillfully led him into the kitchen while pushing her more intimate thoughts to the back of her mind.

* * *

Jimmy felt oddly comfortable sharing the apartment with Chloe. He still chose to change into his pajamas in the living room, giving her space in the bedroom while she changed for bed; they met up again in the bathroom, standing over the sink while brushing their teeth and washing their faces. She crawled into bed and drew the thin, blue sheet up to her waist, the hum of the table fan blowing back and forth across the room the only sound that broke the stillness. From the doorway, he watched her torso rise and fall steadily for some moments before his exhaustion caught up with him and he joined her. She rolled over onto her other side to face him when she felt the mattress shift under his weight.

Jimmy was startled by her swift movement; he thought she'd been sound asleep. Chloe's luminous, green eyes stared straight into his as if she were searching desperately for an answer to an unspoken question. He was physically worn out from the day's work but he found that he couldn't look away; her piercing gaze riveted his attention.

Chloe thought about the other men in her life then; she remembered their idiocies and infidelities, as well as the mistakes she'd made in those relationships, and she carefully regarded the man that lay before her. She decided to take the leap of faith, finally allowing the words that had been imprinted on her heart to roll off her tongue.

"I love you, Jim."


	14. Chapter 14

_**East Side Slums, **_**April 19, 1984. **Rose had gotten called in by the temp agency that morning to do some secretarial work in a downtown office building and was now picking up some overtime, leaving Aaron and Leroy to fend for themselves for dinner. The Russell Insurance Company didn't last long after the February 9th repair shop fire that the arsonist set, and Aaron had to close the business' doors for good. The little office hadn't even been shut a day, and already the older man was working on the docks, moving crates in and out of one of the warehouses dotting the water's edge and keeping things organized for the owners there. The pay was sub-par but the work was steady, and with his wife's intermittent income they were able to get by.

Leroy came up behind his father just then, breaking the older man out of his private thoughts as he pushed some scrambled eggs onto the plate alongside a piece of buttered wheat bread toast. Aaron held up a hand to stop him once his plate was full, and Leroy maneuvered over to fill his own dish before putting the empty frying pan into the sink to wash when the meal was through. He sat back down and was about to dig in when he saw his father's aged hand move across the table.

He was pushing a ten dollar bill in his direction.

"Happy Birthday," Aaron said when Leroy finally looked up at him. He left the bill in front of his son, who made no move to take it. After what felt like half an hour Leroy reached a hand out to the money and pushed it back over to his father.

"I can't take that, Dad, it's just selfish. I can't and I won't take that money."

The older man tried to push it back in his son's direction but the boy remained firm. "Son, you're being unreasonable; now this is from your mother and me. We weren't sure what you wanted or needed for your birthday this year, so we thought we'd let you be the judge of that. Now go on, take it, take the money." He pushed the crumpled bill into Leroy's hand forcefully.

The boy looked at the green paper bill wadded up in his semi-clenched fist, then got up from the table and moved over to the mail sitting on a low stool beside the door. He picked up the envelope with the electricity company logo on it, then plunked that and the 10 next to his father before sitting back down in his seat.

"I _need_ electricity to read, so use the money for that. And before you ask, yes that _is_ what I _want_ for my birthday." He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth to halt any further argument.

Aaron stared at the money with watery eyes for several minutes, not trusting himself to speak. When he found his voice again he said, "You're a good man, Son…you're a good man."

Leroy looked over at his father and flashed him one of his genuine smiles before shaking his head. "Oh no, not yet Old Timer—you can tell me that next year, but not yet. I'm only seventeen, remember? Legally I'm still a kid, and even _you_ can't get rid of this kid that easily," he replied, pointing to himself and winking.

Aaron laughed, the first free and easy laugh he'd uttered in months, and his son joined him. "Alright, fair enough, I'll hold onto the compliment for next year." He stared straight into his son's hazel eyes, marveling at him. "Seventeen already, I can't believe it…"

They resumed eating their meal silently, letting the love between them hang in the air but go unsaid.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**May 8, 2009. **"I'm sorry—could you say that again? I thought I heard you say…"

"I love you," Chloe finished for him.

"That's what I thought you said." Suddenly wide awake again, Jim blinked rapidly and stared at her, watching the small satisfied smile spread across her beautiful face.

She waited several long moments, hoping for his affection in return, but settled for watching the gears churn behind his expressive eyes as he processed her words. "What are you thinking?"

He regarded her carefully. "This isn't because I asked you to move in with me, is it? I mean—I don't want you to feel as though you're under some sort of _obligation_ to say it, because I would really…"

"No, Jim." She snaked a slender arm around his waist, drawing herself even closer to him.

The young man just looked at her, dumbfounded. "Then why? I mean, why now? Chloe…I've loved you since our first date." he brought a broad hand up to gently stroke her cheek.

"Really?" she asked—the surprise in her voice genuine.

"Of course! Who couldn't know you and help but fall in love with you? I just didn't want to say it again and risk having it all come undone like it did after Haley was born. But why now? What prompted you to tell me this now?"

She grasped the hand he had cupped under her chin and kissed the palm. "A million little things that I was too afraid to look at closely before: how we can talk for hours and never seem to run out of things to say and how we enjoy the silences too; how you looked out for me when I had too much to drink without lording it over me; how you handled the news about my mother—holding me close instead of pushing me away; the way you would reach over and take my hand when we'd go walking as if it were the most natural thing in the world…"

"It is the most natural thing in the world…" he interjected.

She blushed prettily. "The way you always seem to know it's me on the telephone, even before I have a chance to say hello; how you trust me, even when I act craz—_abnormally_," she said, correcting herself. "How you cleared out two drawers in your bathroom cabinet without having been asked to do it."

His hand traveled down to Chloe's waist and he pulled her petite form flush against him. "So that's it then? You're telling me you love me because of some empty space in a medicine cabinet? If I had known that was all it took, I would've done it a long time ago," he replied huskily, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Oh you…" Jim leaned in and kissed her long and hard, denying her the chance to admonish him further. They stayed like that for quite some time before coming up for air.

"That was some kiss, Mr. Olsen," she gasped when they finally parted.

His face flushed with pride. "Why thank yo…whoa!" She pushed him flat on his back and climbed on top of him, kissing him anew before he could finish his sentence.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**May 9, 2009, 10:45 AM. **The telephone in the kitchen rang and Lois kept a close eye on the baby while she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi Lois. It's Chloe." The petite blonde sat up in bed, legs curled up in front of her and the thin blue sheet pulled up to cover her exposed collarbone.

"Oh hey! Listen, Clark's not here right now…he's taking care of that small tsunami that hit Japan, so I don't think he'll be able to make it back in time for brunch…" Jason zipped over to play peek-a-boo with Haley then, momentarily distracting Lois.

"Great!" Chloe exclaimed.

"I'm sorry? Did you just say 'great'?" she asked her friend incredulously.

"Um, yeah…sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It's just that Jim and I…hey, stop that!" she hissed, trying to cover the mouthpiece of the phone while swatting her boyfriend away as he playfully nibbled on her shoulder.

"Stop what?" Lois asked obliviously.

"Sorry," Chloe fixed him with a mock-glare as she returned her attention to her friend. "I didn't mean you—I meant Jim." Both women paused as Lois slowly realized what was going on.

"OH! Oh my God, ok, um…don't worry about it! You know, we can always have brunch another time now that you're in Metropolis…" the normally unflappable reporter squeaked, torn between happiness for her friends and her own undying curiosity.

Jim now had his hands around her waist and was lightly planting kisses along her exposed spine. "Ok, yeah, great, another time…bye!" Chloe hurriedly hung up the phone and turned to her boyfriend. "Way to make that awkward, Jim!" she said, glaring at him while grinning at the same time.

"Me? What did I do?" he asked innocently while making doe-eyes at his girlfriend.

"You _know_ what you did…"

"Hmm, well I guess you'll just have to teach me a lesson, now won't you?" he asked, his mouth hungrily colliding with hers before she could even reply.

* * *

Lois' face was flush with embarrassment as she hung up the phone. "Are you ok, Mom?" Jason asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

"What makes you say that, Honey?"

"Because you're making the face like Haley does before she makes a stinky diaper," he answered her seriously.

The young mother fairly shook with laughter at her son's keen observation. "I'm fine, Honey. Tell you what—how about you and I get your sister ready and we'll have an early lunch before heading to the park to play some more? Hopefully your Dad will be back by then…"

Soft brown hair flopped around his ears as the little boy nodded his head happily and obediently followed his mother and baby sister out of the room.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**May 11, 2009, 9:03 AM. **"Hey Clark! Did you have a nice weekend?" Jimmy called out as he strode through the bullpen, positively beaming.

Clark sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. _I had a weekend?_ Book-ending the tsunami were a seemingly unending parade of robberies, car accidents and other natural disasters that kept him moving constantly around the globe. He was able to stop at home late Saturday night to catch up with Lois, and he remembered spending part of Sunday afternoon playing with Jason and Haley; however, the rest of that time was just a big red, blue and yellow blur.

"Um, yeah, it was a-alright. Too short. How w-was yours?"

"Oh, you know…same old, same old," he replied, smirking. Clark noted the alarming jump in his friend's heart rate, but, after hearing about his wife's strange phone call, he knew well enough to leave it alone.

"Olsen! Kent! My office, now!" Perry bellowed.

"And yet another work week begins," Clark muttered under his breath, sighing as he hefted his large frame out of the chair and fell into step behind Jimmy.

"We've got another body in the Ladykiller case," the Chief barked before they'd even had a chance to take their seats. "There's no time to sit—they just found it in an alley off Glendale Avenue and Morrow Road, and rumor has it they've got a witness." At this news, Clark and Jimmy just stared at one another; this was the break in the case they'd been waiting for. "Well, what are you two doing standing around here?! Get going!!" Both men scrambled out of the office to collect their things.

Clark wracked his brain for an excuse to get away from Jimmy and allow his alter ego to arrive at the crime scene earlier. He caught sight of the corner his briefcase poking out from under the desk and promptly kicked it out of sight. "Uh, Jimmy? I forgot my briefcase at the apartment…you go on ahead, I'm going to swing by there and grab it. I'll meet you there."

"You sure? 'Cause I don't mind running over there with you and waiting…"

"No! I mean—no, it's alright, I'll catch up with you at the scene."

"Ok, if you say so," and with that the young photographer reluctantly left the bullpen, a multitude of camera implements in tow.

Clark waited until his friend was out of sight, then collected his case and dashed toward the stairwell, super-speeding up to the roof unobserved.

Superman touched down gently behind a group of Metropolis Police officers at the site before Jimmy even left the _Planet_ building. "I understand there's been another victim in the Ladykiller case, Lt. Henrickson," his deep, baritone voice startled the older policeman.

Al spun on his heel, his hand reflexively covering his barrel chest as he tried to bring his heart rate under control. "We _really_ need to put a bell on you…" he muttered under his breath, before loudly adding, "Yes, and it's fresh. The M.E. said that, based on the liver temperature and lack of _rigor mortis_ that the victim has been dead only three to four hours." The Lieutenant and the Man of Steel both strode over to examine the crumpled form propped against the wall.

"Has the victim been identified yet?"

"No—the wallet was missing, and he doesn't match any of the current missing persons reports on file. Of course, we don't normally take those until the person has been gone for twenty-four hours or more. If the perp's M.O. is the same, then this guy hasn't even been gone for twelve yet. We'll probably have an ID later today."

Superman nodded his head solemnly, his thick eyebrows nearly furrowed together in thought; he then looked around at the apartment windows overlooking the alley. "Where's the witness?"

"Can't put anything past you, can we? It's Hank O'Rourke, up in 4E. He used to be one of us actually; retired about two years ago from the Force. Anyways, said he heard a noise in the alley from his open window there," the Lieutenant pointed toward an open window a few stories up and the superhero heard voices coming from within. "He thought it might have been an animal poking around for food. When the noise didn't stop, he finally stuck his head out the window to chase the thing away; only, instead of a cat, he saw legs sticking out between the dumpsters and a light gray van speeding off onto the main road. He called us pronto and we've been here about thirty or forty minutes. In our estimates, the killer was here about an hour, hour and a half ago."

He nodded before drifting up toward the open window. Brushing the blue gingham curtains away from the sill and found Hank O'Rourke sitting in a well worn kitchen chair. The wiry, old man had a mass of white hair and a pair of coke-bottle glasses balanced precariously on his nose. A young officer sat with him, asking him several questions.

The Man of Steel cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mr. O'Rourke, but did you happen to notice any distinguishing marks on the van? Anything that might help readily identify it?"

The old man turned in his chair and his bushy eyebrows disappeared into his shaggy hairline at the sight of the Man of Steel hovering outside his fourth story window. Ever the professional, however, he quickly regained his composure. "No, Son—I didn't…but as you can probably tell, I can't see very well without my glasses and I didn't have them on earlier. I _think_ the last letter on the license plate might have been an 'H', but I'm not sure—I'm sorry it's not more."

"It's better then nothing, Sir. Thank you for your help."

Superman set his strong jaw in determination and took off into the blue skies above Metropolis. He hovered just below the clouds, scanning the main thoroughfares of the City for every available gray van; he knew he wouldn't have much luck since the killer easily had an hour or more head-start. Twenty minutes later he returned to the scene, catching sight of Jimmy behind his camera lens, snapping away alongside other local reporters at the edge of the police barricade.

"Any luck?" Al called out as his friend floated back down to Earth.

"No. Whoever it was is long gone, but at least we know that they're in the City somewhere."

"Oh yeah? How do you figure that?"

"Well, with rush hour traffic, it would've been extremely difficult for this individual to get in and out of Metropolis as quickly as he did without us catching him; that is _if_ he were coming from one of the outlying suburbs. Therefore, the perp must still be within the city limits, possibly hiding out in an underground parking garage; a lot of those still use lead-based paints, so the killer would have known that I wouldn't be able to find them."

Al nodded again, his creased face grim at the sight of another young man cut down in his prime, an 'X' scratched prominently over his heart. "Right, well I'll put an APB out on the van; we'll see if one of the uniforms can't pick it up."

"Sounds good," Clark leaned in, practically whispering into Al's ear. "I'm going to go get changed, but I'll be right back…do you think you might be able to give me some quotes?" His friend responded with a cocked eyebrow and a rascally smirk; Superman leapt into the sky, but not before posing such that Jimmy could capture several shots of a pensive-looking Man of Steel for Perry.

A few seconds later, Clark Kent darted around the corner, briefcase clutched in one hand as he struggled to find his steno pad with the other. "Hey Jimmy, what'd I miss?" he asked casually, finally pulling the notebook free and grabbing a pen from his breast pocket.

"Well, Superman was just here. It looked to me like he'd been here earlier before going off somewhere. Then he came back and was talking to that guy over there," Jimmy pointed at a smug-looking Lt. Henrickson, "so maybe he can give you some answers for the article. I'm going to go see if I can't take a few more photos—I got some great ones of Superman, but I want to cover all my bases for the Chief."

"Sounds good." Clark watched the photographer deftly weave his way through the ever-growing press contingent. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" he called out in his high-pitched voice, waving his pen in the air. Al looked over and caught his eye, another mischievous smirk crossing his face as he strode toward the tall reporter.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Kent?" he asked.

Clark launched into a quick question and answer session with Al before collecting Jimmy for the return trip to the _Planet_. "I think we have enough for now; the police still don't know the identity of the victim, but I'll follow up on that this afternoon."

"Whatever you say, CK," Jimmy replied, meticulously placing his camera back in its case before stepping over to the curb. "Taxi!!"

* * *

The rest of the work day dragged by; Clark got a phone call that afternoon from Al, stating that the latest victim was Francis McGowan and that he had his own up-and-coming publishing company. Jimmy printed up his photos, receiving a back-handed compliment from the Chief for his snapshots of Superman. In the late afternoon, Jimmy followed Clark to the nearby bars to see if anyone recalled seeing the victim the previous evening. When they met with little success, each man agreed to call it a day and head home.

* * *

Clark stumbled through his front door completely exhausted and utterly frustrated. The killer already had five notches on his belt and neither Superman nor the authorities were any closer to uncovering him then when they'd started; not only that, but Clark surmised that the world was now making up for the relative lull in criminal activity that had occurred shortly after Haley's birth, as his alter-ego was now constantly on the go.

"Hey Honey," Lois greeted him, the baby cradled against her chest; she leaned into him expectantly, waiting for her kiss.

"Hi." He gave her a quick peck before shuffling over to the armchair, dumping his briefcase on the floor as he collapsed into the seat's soft folds.

"Long day?"

"Long _three_ days," he muttered, pushing his glasses up into his hair and rubbing his tired eyes with one hand.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Jason zipped into the room and right into his father's lap. "Dad, you're home!" the little boy exclaimed, throwing his arms around Clark's neck. "I missed you!"

He wrapped his arms around his son. "I missed you too, Bud." Turning to Lois, he added, "Thanks, Sweetheart, but I think this is just what I needed right now." She gave him a small smile, kissing the top of his head, while his lips grazed Haley's soft baby hair in return.

* * *

The first thing Jim did when he returned to his apartment was put a pot of coffee on for Chloe; once the coffee was percolating he pulled his laptop from its bag and booted it up, re-examining the crime scene photos he'd taken earlier in the day and searching for any possible clues. He pulled up the print the Chief had decided to use with Clark's article the following day; in the foreground was the blurry, yellow police tape—in the background several grim-looking officers stood in a circle talking, next to the body that had yet to be bagged and taken away. All that could be seen of the victim were his black, pant-clad legs, which protruded ominously from behind a few garbage bags. Jim blew it up so it engulfed the whole computer screen; he felt that there was something there, something vital to the case, and yet he couldn't quite place his finger on it. The coffee settled in the pot; he closed the open folder on his laptop, getting up to pour a cup for himself and his girlfriend.

A key turned in the front door and it swung open to reveal a tired looking Chloe. She immediately dropped her briefcase the minute she set foot in the apartment and made a beeline for the steaming mug placed on the end of the table closest to her.

"Thank God, coffee!" she inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma, without a word of greeting to her boyfriend.

"You're welcome," he replied, sitting down at the table and waiting for her to do the same. She joined him only after downing half the cup. "Long day?"

"The _longest_. I mean, I like hitting the ground running and all, but even _I_ was overwhelmed. I met with so many new people, then I had to set up my desk, and before I was even halfway done, I was handed my first assignment; they want me to interview Isabelle Nonte about her East Side Slum revitalization project. The meeting is set up for Thursday, so I had to start doing all this research on her, and…"

"Isn't she that heiress…?

"Don't call her an heiress, Jim; it sounds like you're lumping her in with the likes of that air-head, Milan Milton; from what I've been able to gather about her, it sounds like Miss Nonte actually uses her brain. Good thing too—it's nice to see her putting her Ivy League education to good use."

He nodded in agreement. "I remember Clark and Lois talking about her a few months back…it sounded like she'd been lobbying the City councilmen to improve the area in and around the Slums—Lois said she said she claimed to want to 'give the people a hand up, not a hand out, and help Metropolis grow'. Wasn't it something like 10 million dollars that she was willing to donate to the project if the City agreed to match it?"

Chloe nodded. "And therein lies the problem; from what I've been able to find out so far, the councilmen don't want to allocate those kinds of funds for a section of town that they feel is so impoverished that they believe it to be beyond repair—obviously they're not saying that outright, but it's written all over their faces whenever the situation is brought up at council meetings. Isabelle Nonte obviously feels otherwise, and seeing as how she's the sole heir to her family's fortune, it'd be a great use for the money."

"It also sounds like a great first assignment for you."

She took another sip of her coffee then put it down. "It is…I only hope I don't screw it up."

Jimmy smiled at her and reached out a hand, placing it lovingly over hers. "I know you, you won't…but still, is there anything I can do to help?"

She smiled gratefully at him before holding her nearly empty mug aloft. "This helps," she sighed; she gently pulled her hand from beneath his and lovingly traced slow circles on the back of his hand, "And this…this helps too."

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

_**East Side Slums, **_**July 2, 1984. **"Rose, Sweetheart, it's just a…" he paused, hacking up another lung in the process. "It's just a cough, I don't know what you're so worried about." He took the glass of water she put in front of him and downed half of it easily before looking up at her with loving eyes as she stood over him.

"Oh, you can't see why I'm worried? Really?" Her husband shook his head, no. "Aaron, you can't even finish a whole sentence without a five minute coughing spell interrupting you! That's not NORMAL! I bet it's from all the mold we have growing down here, living in this crap shack," she added irritably, banging on a damp spot on one of the kitchen walls with her fists for emphasis. Leroy sat on the sofa with a library book in his hands, keeping quiet while silently agreeing with his mother.

"Hey, take it easy there! I know this isn't the Ritz but right now it's all we've got!" he added heatedly. The words were barely out of his mouth before he started coughing again.

"This is what I'm talking about here! You need to see a doctor…it could be eating your lungs out right now for all we know…" Rose let her voice trail off but the worry was clear in her tone. She put a hand on her hip and glared down at him from where she stood.

"You're not going to leave me alone about this, are you?" She shook her head vigorously, her black and white speckled hair still holding in the tight bun she put it up in hours earlier. "Fine, I'll go…on _Saturday_."

"But that's FIVE DAYS FROM NOW!" she balked.

"We both know I can't afford to take a day off from work, and a day is just how long it would take for me to be seen at the free clinic now that I'm without health insurance. So it's either Saturday or no day, take your pick."

Leroy could only guess at the choice words his mother had for his father, but she wisely bit her tongue. His father finished the rest of the water in his glass, then set it down before him on the table. "Ok then, it's settled, I'll go on Saturday." He reached an arm out and snuck it around her waist, drawing her close to him. "It'll be fine, Rose, you'll see. There's nothing to worry about."

She buried her face in her husband's hair, and for a moment everything _was _alright…until they heard the loud wail of several fire engines entering the neighborhood.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, June 9, 2009. **It was nearing the end of an interminably slow news day, and Jimmy Olsen sat at his desk staring at a photo.

It was the same photo he'd been staring at for the last month, ever since the Ladykiller Killer had become incommunicado.

Jim leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, the image seared indelibly onto the back of his eyelids. The three uniformed officers standing to the left of the frame, talking; the bit of yellow police tape in the foreground, slightly out of focus; two large, tin trash pails on the right, along the brick wall; behind the cans lay a full, green, plastic garbage bag…next to the bag were the trouser-clad legs of Francis McGowan, a little crumpled bit of paper next to his well-worn, luxury shoe.

Francis was the same age as Jim, and had been running his small, independent publishing company for the past year. Clark had spent a good week interviewing friends, family and employees. He had found that the business was on the up and up, having landed its largest client to date a few days before Francis died. He'd spent the entire weekend celebrating, finally ending up at O'Malley's Pub late Sunday evening …_and on Monday morning he was dead, _Jim thought to himself, sadly_._

"You know, Jimmy, your little fixation with that photo is getting to be rather morbid," Lois declared loudly from behind his shoulder, causing him to jump in his seat. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be at a wedding?"

He turned to face her; Lois had only been back a week after her maternity leave ended and she was already in full swing…_some things never change, _he thought with a wry smile. "I'm ready to go, but my train doesn't leave for another hour and a half; besides, Chloe isn't here yet and she's taking me to the station."

"Ok…and the photo? I find you staring at it every chance you get, so what gives? The story's gone cold…even Clark's moved on by now," she informed him, glancing curiously back over her shoulder at her husband.

"I wish I could tell you, Lois, but I just feel like there's something here that I'm missing…I can't put my finger on it but something just isn't right…"

She gave him a reassuring pat on the back then straightened up. "Well, whatever it is, you've been staring at it long enough that I'm sure you'll find it. Good luck."

"Thanks."

* * *

As Lois strode back to her desk, she caught her husband's eye; he cocked his head then, closing his eyes, and she knew he was focusing on a distress call. He rose quickly to meet her in the middle of the aisle.

"Honey, I think it's time, uh, that one of us r-relieve the babysitter?" Clark asked, clutching his briefcase and pushing his glasses up his nose while winking at her.

As the end of Lois' maternity leave neared, she and Clark discussed their options when it came to who would watch Jason and Haley—with two children, one of them an infant, they couldn't very well bring them into the bullpen day after day. So it was that they spoke to the grandmothers (separately, of course, since one grandparent was oblivious to the secret), and came to a mutually beneficial arrangement: Martha would be flown in from Smallville each Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning to watch Haley while Jason was at school, while Ella would watch the children on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This way, Lois and Clark felt none of the guilt associated with leaving their children in day care and the grandmothers each got to spend quality time with their grandchildren. It was a perfect, albeit temporary, solution.

"Right! Absolutely! You go on ahead, Dear; I've got to finish this article for Perry. I'll meet you at home in half an hour or so?" Lois asked sweetly, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Clark chose that moment to lean down and whisper into her ear, "Maybe longer…sounds like a hostage situation brewing at the First Bank of Metropolis…you might want to get the kids from your mother's…"

He straightened his tall frame as much as he dared at work, while Lois rolled her eyes, an overdone smile plastered to her face as she gently pushed him in the direction of the stairwell. Clark turned to look at her once more before dashing up the steps; he caught her eye and whispered the words "I love you" and then he was gone.

* * *

Chloe strode out of the elevator not five minutes after her friend's departure and made a bee-line for her boyfriend. "Are you ready to go, Jim?" she asked, half-sitting and half-leaning on the edge of his desk. The hem of her skirt inched upwards as she did so, exposing a little bit more of her thigh and giving Jimmy a peek at the creamy, smooth skin she normally hid at the office. Ralph and Gil loitered at a nearby desk, gossiping (though they'd be the last to admit it), and also got an eyeful. The photographer glared at the two men and they quickly moved on.

"Just a minute…" he said, holding her at bay while he cleared his desk and shut down his computer. As soon as the screen went dark he leaned up and kissed his girlfriend full on the lips. "I picked up a copy of the 'Metropolan' today, and I'm glad I did; it was a chance to read the piece in it's entirety. You did a great job…I _knew_ all your hard work would pay off."

She smiled at his high praise. "Well, I couldn't have done it without you pushing all that coffee through my veins," she teased.

Jim rose from his chair and pulled the duffle bag out from under his desk, glancing back at the Chief's office. _It seems I'm forever aiding and abetting people in their caffeine addictions…_he thought wryly as Perry waved the white _Daily Planet_ mug around as he spoke to Rachel behind closed doors. That was the fourth cup of coffee Jimmy had gotten him that day and the man hadn't even said thank you.

Lois swept down the aisle again and Chloe jumped up to give her friend a hug. "Great job on your first piece!! Clark and I have been saying pretty much the same thing about the Slums all along; they're not a lost cause, it's just the Councilmen who are hindering their progress, and I think Miss Nonte and her money could do a whole lot of good if they'd only let her."

"That's just what I said! In fact, I've got my copy here to show off to everyone back home!" Jimmy exclaimed excitedly, patting the top of his duffle where the magazine sat inside. Chloe's cheeks flushed bright red.

"Aw, thanks guys. Well Lois, I'd love to stay and chat about how your first week back has been going, but _someone_ has to get to the train station…" she said, clasping her boyfriend's hand in hers.

"No problem, I'll talk to you later…have fun at your sister's wedding, Jimmy! Bye!"

* * *

Jimmy stood on the platform beside his train, kissing Chloe good-bye as if he were going off to war instead of simply spending two days in Connecticut away from her.

"You know I'll be seeing you on Thursday night, right?" she asked mischievously when their lips finally parted.

"Uh huh…"

"So why are you kissing me as if it's the last time we'll see each other?"

He stopped in mid-pucker at the question and looked straight into her clear, green eyes. "Maybe I'm giving you a reason to follow me home? My family can be pretty overwhelming and…"

"And I'm looking forward to meeting them all. Now get on that train, you, or you'll be late and your family will never forgive me."

"Yes Boss," he said impishly, taking a step away then darting back for one more kiss before hopping aboard the train. Alone on the platform, she followed his progress through the train until he found a seat near a window and she blew him one last kiss before heading back to the car.

* * *

The ride up the coast was fairly uneventful; Jimmy alternately napped, listened to music, and re-read Chloe's article. He was one of a handful of passengers that got off at the Mayfield stop and he carelessly slung his bag over his shoulder before heading to the parking lot.

He quickly spotted Josh's hideous, orange, 1970 Volkswagen Beetle right away but found it to be unoccupied…he soon discovered why when he was tackled from behind.

"HEY JIM-BO!!" his brother called out as their bodies collided. Josh was two inches shorter with about forty pounds on his oldest sibling and the force of his brotherly hug caused the air to rush out of Jimmy's lungs, leaving him wheezing as they parted. He managed to squeak out a weak hello in-between gasps as he doubled over, resting his hands upon his knees, to better suck in much-needed oxygen. The youngest brother, Justin, stood an even 6 feet tall and boasted a more athletic build than either of his brothers; he joined the small reunion, taking the duffle bag.

"Hey Jimmy," he said, clasping his brother on the back. "Good to see you! Sorry about Josh—I tried to stop him, honest!" Jim straightened up and nodded his gratitude to his youngest brother before pulling him into a hug. "Nice to see some things never change." At Jim's quizzical look, he crowed, "I have _at least_ two inches on you now!" The three brothers stood side by side with identical grins on their faces, only Josh's was partially obscured by his overgrown beard and long, shaggy hair. Despite their different physical proportions, the family resemblance was clear; each had the same sandy blonde hair and creamy brown eyes that twinkled when they smiled.

"Thanks for picking me up guys; I hope it wasn't too much trouble…"

"Are you kidding? Anything to get away from the wedding madness! I don't even live at home anymore and it's driving me nuts!" Josh exclaimed, striding forward to unlock the driver's side door.

"I _do_ live under the same roof as the Bride, the Mother of the Bride, and the Maid of Honor; how do you think I feel?"

Jimmy chuckled at their bickering as Justin poured himself into the back seat with the duffle bag in tow. The ride home went by quickly; all too soon, the younger boys and Jim climbed out of the car and made it halfway up the front lawn before they were attacked.

A young girl in tan shorts and a red tank top came running out of the house, the screen door slamming behind her and her long blond ponytail bobbing up and down as she bolted toward her oldest brother. "JIM-MAY!" she screamed before leaping into his waiting arms. "It's so good to have you home," Jill said moments later when she finally allowed herself to be put back down on the ground.

"Nice to see you too, Sis," he replied, giving her a quick little kiss in the middle of her forehead as they made their way up the front walk, arms wrapped around each other's waists. He looked up to the front porch and caught sight of his mother and other sister leaning on the rails.

Cheryl stood beside Jennifer, looking relieved. "Oh good, you boys are back! James, I was so worried that your train wouldn't come in on time…" his mother chattered as he climbed the steps and leaned in to give her a hug and a kiss. Then he turned his attention toward his sister.

Jenny seemed to have grown up even more since he'd seen her at Christmas…_she seems so calm, so mature…_he thought as he gathered her up in a fierce hug. "How're you holdin' up?" he asked her, tuning out their mother as she prattled on about her numerous anxieties surrounding the impending nuptials.

"Oh, you know…the butterflies haven't gotten hold of me yet," she answered him, winking mischievously. "Now come inside, there's someone I'd like you to meet." Jenny led the way into the house pulling Jim along, while Cheryl ushered her other children inside, all the while clucking about not having raised them in a barn.

They passed through the shabby-but-comfortable living room littered with family photos and hand-knit doilies, then through the dining room and finally into the kitchen, which had been converted into a Jordan almond packaging assembly line. A young man sat at the table, tying a dainty yellow ribbon onto one of the hundreds of white square packages in the shoeboxes at his elbow; his sandy brown hair flopped forward onto his brow as he toiled. He cursed under his breath at the small knot and his clumsy, large hands before he heard his bride-to-be clear her throat; his head snapped up and he quickly found himself staring straight up at all six Olsens. Brian stood up suddenly, the chair scraping across the linoleum as he discreetly wiped his hands on his pants before returning to attention as if he were at boot camp and under inspection.

"Honey, I'd like you to meet my big brother, Jimmy. Jimmy, this is my fiancé, Brian Colby." Jen said as she reassuringly moved to her groom's side. Jim scrutinized his brother-in-law-to-be as he extended a hand in greeting. The man was just shy of 6' tall, with broad shoulders and soft, hazel eyes partially hidden behind his floppy, brown hair. Jim had to stop himself from laughing aloud; the young man who was built like a linebacker seemed to be genuinely afraid of him.

"It's nice to finally meet the man Jenny's going to marry," her brother said cheerfully, trying to put him at ease. "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to meet before now, but I understand what it means to have to travel home to see your family for the holidays and all."

Brian's nervousness melted away and he smiled as he took Jim's hand in his. "Yeah, I know, it's a shame we haven't been able to meet before this. I'm glad you could make it for the wedding, though; from what everyone's told me I understand that things are going pretty well for you in Metropolis."

"Well you know, they keep me pretty busy at…"

"WORK, we know!" his family cried out as one, having all heard him use the line before.

Jim chuckled and scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. "How about I, uh, give you a hand here and you can tell me all about the wide world of real estate?"

"Well there isn't all that much to tell, really…" he began as the two men sat down to work.

The family kept themselves occupied in that manner for some time, getting to know one another and catching up, long into the night.

* * *

It was late before Jim headed up the stairs to his old bedroom with Jen following close behind him. Brian had just left for his place, as had Josh, while Justin holed up in the basement playing video games and Jill lay on her bed, reading. Cheryl, exhausted by the combination of all the last minute preparations and her own apprehension over the wedding, had hit the hay long ago and was heard lightly snoring from down the hall.

He had to force the door to his bedroom open, as there was barely a path from the door to the bed, his old space having been littered with the boxes of the twins' college belongings while they were home for the summer. Justin had left his brother's duffel bag on top of the brown and green comforter and Jim now made his way over toward it while Jen gently closed the door behind her.

They were close, almost as close as the twins were in many ways, their strong bond having been forged by their father's abandonment years before. While Josh had thrown himself into his drawing tablets and colored pencils in the aftermath of their father's leaving, sketching away his hurt and loneliness, Jen had turned to her eldest brother for comfort and he was always there to listen, encourage and look out for her.

She stood with her back against the door as he flicked on the lamp on his bedside table, and asked anxiously, "So, what do you think of Brian?"

He turned around from his task of emptying out the contents of his duffle bag to look at her. "Does it really matter what _I _think of him? You're the one marrying him."

Jen flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave him an exasperated look. "You know it does, Jim."

He turned around to look at her more closely, sitting down on the bed and leaving space for her to join him. She strode over and sat with her back against the headboard, pulling her knees in close to her chest.

"I like him, Jenny, I really do. I think he's a nice guy…a little jumpy, but otherwise nice."

"Well, you'd be jumpy too if you were in his shoes, wouldn't you? I mean, you have to admit that the six of us are a pretty intimidating set."

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "I guess you're right. I never really thought of it like that, considering I was the only one he hadn't met before...speaking of which, what exactly did you tell him about me, anyway? He looked like he was afraid I'd start pummeling him or something if he said the wrong thing."

She swatted playfully at his shoulder as the smile danced on his lips. "It was nothing like that, Jimmy! I told him that you were my big brother and that you were a good guy who always looked out for me when we were growing up…that you always had my back."

"You told him about Scotty Blevins in the fourth grade, didn't you?"

Her cheeks instantly blushed. "I may have mentioned that incident to him once or twice…"

"Jen, that was sixteen years ago! Besides, if that kid had just left you alone instead of pulling your hair everyday and making you cry then I wouldn't have _**had**_ to stick a pen knife in his bicycle tires!"

She grinned at how defensive her brother got all these years later whenever the subject was brought up, yet they both knew full well that he'd do it again in a heartbeat to safeguard her, even from a fourth grade bully. Wanting to change the subject, she looked down at the bed and spied the magazine Jimmy had brought with him. "I didn't know you were a fan of the 'Metropolan'?" she asked.

"I'm not normally, it's just…well…here, see for yourself," he replied sheepishly, pulling the already well-worn pages open to the article on Isabelle Nonte.

"East Metropolis' Great Hope: Isabelle Nonte and Her Un-Realized Plans for Revitalization, by Chloe Sullivan," Jen read out loud. She scanned the article quietly for several minutes before turning her attention back to her brother. "Wait a minute…Chloe…is this _your_ Chloe, the one you asked to move in with you?"

"One and the same. She's taking the train up Thursday night; I'm picking her up right after your rehearsal dinner."

Jen quickly finished reading the article. "She did a great job with this piece here. I'd never heard of this Isabelle Nonte before and then, when I saw the word heiress, I thought…"

"You thought she was like Milan Milton, I know—that's just what Chloe said and that's why she worked so hard on the article; she wanted to show that the woman wasn't another millionaire bimbo."

She watched her brother as his eyes sparkled, talking about Chloe and her work. "You really like this one, don't you? Chloe, I mean."

His expression immediately sobered before responding. "I don't like her, Jen—I love her."

Her eyes went wide with surprise; she'd known he was serious about his new girlfriend, but she'd had no idea just _how_ serious. "Well, just don't let Mom hear you saying that."

Jim's brows furrowed in confusion. "What?! Why not?"

"Because I don't think she'll be up for _another_ wedding any time soon," she responded with a chuckle, getting up off her brother's bed. "I'll let you get some rest; the next few days are going to be pretty busy."

He got up too and gave her a firm hug. "Good night, Jen. Sleep tight."

"You too. I'm glad you're home."

"So am I."

She smiled broadly at him before closing the door behind her, leaving Jim alone in his childhood bedroom. It was then that he realized that home was several hundred miles away, in an apartment in Metropolis, snuggled in bed beside Chloe Sullivan.

* * *

**A/N: **According to my friend Joe (my personal computer fix-it guru) my computer is possessed, and so I might not be able to get Chapter 16 up by my self-imposed Thursday deadline. I'm doing my darndest to make sure that that DOESN'T happen, but I'm making no promises. At least I was able to save all of my important documents and photos before my PC went kaput this time...

...also, don't forget to check out the Fan Fiction Movie-verse Awards that htbthomas is hosting! Voting starts tomorrow (July 1st) so be sure and check her profile page for the link!


	16. Chapter 16

_**East Side Slums, **_**September 5, 1984. **The last recorded arson fire had taken place in early July, bringing the total number of businesses affected to thirteen. The fire department continued to investigate the blazes, but the lack of activity made them hopeful that the arsonist had either moved on or died; either way, the damage to the Slums was already done.

Rose returned to the tiny apartment with a bundle of groceries in her arms; Leroy quickly cleared his homework assignments from the kitchen table so his mother could put the food down. She smiled at him gratefully as he took the fish wrapped in newspaper from under her left arm and put it on the counter.

He glanced at the folded, crumpled paper; it was at least a month old, the only visible article detailing the number of mourners who'd shown up to Charles Nonte's funeral. He was the child of Metropolis millionaires and only a couple of months older than Leroy when he was killed in a boating accident while vacationing in Martha's Vineyard; it was very big news when it happened some five or six weeks earlier. Before unfurling the fish from its black and white wrapping, Leroy spared one last glance at the somber picture of a grieving family in the church: a young girl nestled between her parents, the white casket in the foreground a painful reminder of their tragic loss.

"I spent a little extra money for the salmon, thinking it might help your father's cold…I don't know why, but maybe…something in the fish..." at the mention of her husband's malady, Rose met her son's clear, worried gaze with one of her own. Whatever was wrong with Aaron Russell was no mere cold—no matter what the quack doctors at the free clinic kept telling them. The cough that had manifested in early July still plagued him and had deepened; his wife and child could clearly hear the fluid rattling in his lungs whenever a five or ten minute coughing spell overcame him. He was even beginning to wheeze when he laughed and the whooping fits prevented him from getting more than three or four hours sleep at night.

Still more disturbing was the nonchalance with which he treated his illness; Aaron refused to acknowledge that he could be ill with anything more than your garden variety cold, when it was clearly something much more sinister. He continued to push himself at work, which only furthered his decline in health. Leroy studied his mother carefully under the harsh light cast by the bare bulb—it made the wrinkles on her weathered face stand out even more, and illustrated how sunken in and hollow her cheeks had become after the events of the last year. Reflexively, he drew her in for an embrace and she broke down into his shoulder.

"I don't…I don't know how…to help him! I want…I want to…help him…but I can't! He won't…let me…and I don't…know what to do! I can't…lose him…I can't…lose him…I can't…" she sobbed unrestrained against him.

Rose and Leroy stood there in the kitchen, seeking solace in each other and ignoring all else until the clock on the wall chimed five, reminding them that the man in question would be returning home presently. They broke apart, each still clinging to their own private worries and fears for the health of the man who'd already had to endure so much.

* * *

_**Mayfield, CT, **_**June 11, 2009. **Jenny was right; the days leading up to her wedding _were_ a blur of activity. Jimmy crammed more errands and outings into a forty-eight hour period than he usually did in a whole month. Between picking up and trying on his tuxedo, meeting the groom's family, attending Brian's bachelor party, helping Jen with last-minute details and calming down his overly-stressed mother–all while making sure they got to the rehearsal at the church AND the rehearsal dinner at the restaurant on tim–well, he thought his head just might explode.

The only thing that kept him sane and smiling was the knowledge that Chloe would be joining him in a few hours' time. He kept a running countdown in his head all day, and his anticipation was only heightened further when she had called to let him know that she was getting on the train in Metropolis and that there didn't appear to be any problems. He stood near the back of the room as the rehearsal dinner wound down, eyeing the thinning crowd until only his family, Brian and Brian's parents were all that were left. Jim took a final sip of his soda and prepared to slip out of the room unnoticed.

"Hey Jimmy! Where do you think you're going?!" Josh cried out loudly when he noticed his brother making a break for it. Jim winced and turned around; the eyes of everyone in the room were upon him.

"Well I…that is...You see…I was going to hail a cab, and uh, pick up my girlfriend at the station…"

"Hail a cab? Where do you think you are, Metropolis? Dude, this is Mayfield! Come on, we'll take my car …"

"Hey, I want to meet her too!" Jill whined, looking to escape the wedding craziness if only for twenty-five minutes. "Take me with you!"

"Now that's not fair, you guys getting to meet her before the rest of us! You're liable to give her the wrong idea about us Olsens!" Justin teased his siblings from the other side of the table.

Cheryl piped up. "And what idea might that be, Dear?" she asked, giving him 'the eye'. It was a look all five children had come to know and fear over the years.

Justin gulped audibly and fidgeted with his tie. "Just that, uh, she might think that we're all, you know, um…hippies like Josh!" he said, throwing his mangy-looking older brother under the bus.

From beneath his long hair and shaggy beard, Josh glared at his younger sibling. "Oh you'll pay for that…come here you!" He took off after Justin who bolted out of his seat and away from his brother's burly grip.

"BOYS! That's enough! I thought I had taught you to behave better than that!" she admonished, embarrassedly glancing at her daughter's future in-laws.

"Sorry, Mom."

"Yeah, sorry."

Jimmy was just about to make a break for the door again when Jen threw her two cents in. "Why don't we all go? You boys can take Josh's car and Mom, Jill and I can follow in the Jeep; that way we can all meet her at the same time." She watched as her older brother turned beet red at the suggestion and tugged at his shirt collar as if it were choking him.

"Uh…no, you know what, I'll just get a cab and we'll meet you back at the house like I had originally planned, it'll be fine…"

"No, I like your sister's idea," Cheryl said, cutting her son off. "Brian, Roger, Sheila, if you'll excuse us…there's one more wedding guest we have to pick up," she said, giving each a hug before allowing Brian and Jenny to say their own good-byes.

Ten minutes later they were all settled into their respective cars, heading toward the train station; Jimmy mentally kicked and cursed at himself from the backseat of his brother's car. _And __**this**__ is exactly why I never bring girlfriends home to meet the family…_

* * *

He was able to convince his family to wait at the far end of the platform so that he could at least prepare Chloe for the onslaught of the full Olsen clan. Her train pulled into the station not two minutes later and he waited fretfully as the passengers spilled out of their carriages, hoping to catch sight of her quickly and possibly have one minute alone. He soon spotted Chloe's lovely blond locks bobbing along as she weaved in and out of the small crowd, her small piece of rolling luggage trailing behind.

"I've missed you SO much!" she exclaimed, dropping her bag to throw both arms around his neck. He'd missed her too…over the course of the last two days, his mind hadn't had a chance to process how much he had truly longed for her presence; they stood embracing one another now as if they'd been separated for months instead of days.

"Now you understand why I kissed you the way I did back in Metropolis," he teased, nuzzling the side of her head with his cheek. She was so overcome with emotion that all she could do was nod into his shoulder.

The footsteps of the disembarking passengers soon faded away until they were the only ones left standing on that section of the platform; he groaned when he heard the footfalls of five Olsens descending upon them.

"Chloe, all I can say is that I'm sorry, I'm _really, truly_ sorry; I tried my best, but I am _so,_ _so_ sorry…"

She eyed him curiously as he hurriedly bent down to pick up her bag. "What are you sorry for…?"

But the words were no sooner out of her mouth then she caught sight of her boyfriend's family rushing toward them, and heard Cheryl Olsen's voice ring out, "You must be Chloe!"

* * *

The young woman from Smallville suddenly found herself looking at five smiling faces bearing down on her. Having never had a large family herself, she braced herself for the blitz attack as best she could. "It's so nice to finally meet you!" she said, genially extending a hand to the Olsen matriarch.

The older woman took it in hers and shook it heartily. "And you too, Dear! It's nice to finally put a face to a name, although I'm afraid James hasn't told us all that much about you, except that the two of you live together…"

Her oldest son quickly cut her off with a sharp cry of, "Mother!"

"Now–now, James, I'm not saying that I expect you two to get separate apartments just to appease me; it's just that, in my day…"

"Hi! I'm Jen, Jimmy's younger sister," the bride-to-be said, cutting off her mother rather unceremoniously while clasping Chloe's hand in a warm grip. "It's nice to meet you. Jim showed me your article from the 'Metropolan'…"

Chloe covered Jen's hand in both of hers, "Oh please, we don't need to talk about work now! You're getting married tomorrow! Congratulations!" Chloe leaned in to give the bride-to-be an excited hug; Jen blushed at how kind and open her brother's new girlfriend seemed to be.

"Thank you so much! I'm just sorry that Brian, my fiancé, couldn't be here to meet you too, but…"

"…seeing as how he's the groom, he's not supposed to see you so close to the wedding, I understand. I'm sure I'll meet him tomorrow at the reception," Chloe finished for her, giving the nervous young woman a wide smile and a knowing wink. Before she could acknowledge Chloe's kindness and understanding, Josh rushed in to give the newcomer a big bear hug; Jen locked eyes with her eldest brother for a moment, mouthing the words 'I like this one' before Jimmy rescued his girlfriend from his brother's vice-like grip.

"No need to be formal and all, if you're dating Jim-bo here," Josh said as he set Chloe gently back down on her feet.

"I guess not!" she replied, blushing and smoothing out her shirt, an embarrassed but pleased smile gracing her full lips.

While on the receiving end of a warning glance from her eldest son, Cheryl spoke up again. "And these here are my youngest—the twins, Justin and Jill." Jim's youngest siblings stepped forward without a word, each extending a hand while grinning wickedly and glancing at one another.

Chloe waited a moment to be let in on the joke before countering, "So, a matching set of Olsens, huh? I bet you two were double the trouble when you were younger."

"Aw MAN!" Justin cried out, while his sister laughed devilishly and held out her palm.

"Five bucks, Justin, you owe me five bucks!"

Chloe chuckled, still in the dark about what just transpired. "What'd I do?"

Jim wrapped his arm around her tiny waist, her luggage clasped in his other hand as the large party slowly made their way down the platform. "You didn't do anything, Chloe. You see, they just have this on-going thing whenever they meet new people…"

"Yeah," Jill piped up, jerking a thumb over at her twin brother, "He always bets me that the first thing someone's going to ask is who's older, just because we get introduced as 'the twins' and all. He doesn't realize that there are actually people in this world who just _aren't_ all that interested."

"And then there are the ones who are just plain dumb," Justin retorted as they walked through the gate, emerging back out into the parking lot. "I remember some stupid guy at the supermarket once asking us if we were identical or fraternal."

Chloe's mouth opened in shock while the rest of the siblings just grinned. "No! Really?!"

Justin nodded his head. "Uh huh. Jill was pretty insulted too…of course this was _before_ she grew boobs…"

"JUSTIN!" his mother and sisters shouted simultaneously. Chloe just laughed harder at the easy camaraderie that existed between them; she'd thought that getting the Olsens to open up in front of her was going to be a lot harder…_apparently I was wrong…_

* * *

Josh dropped his two brothers and Chloe off in front of their childhood home before taking off for his own apartment, reminding them that he'd be back at two o'clock the next day to get ready and take pictures. Cheryl, Jen and Jill arrived just behind them, parking the Jeep in the driveway and following Jimmy, Chloe and Justin up the front walk.

"Chloe, I hope you won't mind staying in Josh and Justin's room while you're here," the older woman said, fishing her key out of her purse as she spoke. "I've cleaned it up and put fresh sheets on the bed, so there shouldn't be any odd smells like you'd normally find in a boy's room or anything. Justin's going to be staying on the pull-out couch in the basement while you're visiting…"

"It's not a problem, Mrs. Olsen, I can sleep on the couch…"

Justin hopped in front of his mother as Chloe spoke. "See Mom! I told you she wouldn't mind taking the sleeper sofa!"

Cheryl glared at her youngest son. "Justin! Manners! No Chloe, I insist; that way if you need anything in the middle of the night I'm just right across the hall." Jim shot his mother a horrified look. _I'm 33 years old, Mom, you can't seriously be doing this…_Chloe caught her boyfriend's eye just then and, reading his mind, communicated back, _Hey—her house, her rules_. He nodded reluctantly in agreement as they entered the house.

The newcomer surveyed the surroundings of the Olsen family home with a trained reporter's eye, quickly discerning that, while there were many family photos littered throughout the room, none seemed to contain any images of Mr. Olsen. _Out of sight out of mind, I suppose…after all, he's the one that walked away, _she thought to herself as Justin and Jill pushed past her to get to the kitchen and, ultimately, the finished basement.

"Chloe?" Jen asked sweetly, breaking her out of her reverie. "Why don't I show you to your room and help you un-pack? It'll give us a chance to get to know one another…" Chloe nodded and took her luggage from Jimmy before following his sister up the stairs.

"I'll can put some water on for tea if you feel like it, Dear."

Chloe paused mid-way up the staircase. "That would be nice, thank you," she replied politely

Jim followed his mother into the kitchen; the sound of the twins playing "Dance Dance Revolution 4" carried from the basement, through the closed door. "What the heck was that all about, Mom? I know you don't like our living arrangement, but could you make it anymore obvious? Or how about when you said 'that way if you need anything, I'm just right across the hall'?" he glowered, mimicking Cheryl's tone.

After putting the kettle on the stove, she turned on her heel to wag a finger at her eldest boy. "James, while I may not approve, you two can live however you like in the City; but here, in _my_ house, you are going to keep to your separate beds, understand?"

"Geez, Mom, we're not teenagers! Besides, do you really think we'd do that in _your house_? NO! I don't care that you're having her sleep in Justin's bedroom, but did you have to make it so obvious as to _why_ you were putting her there in the first place?!"

"Well I'm_ sorry_ if I _embarrassed_ you_,_ but that's just how I feel about the subject; and besides, I couldn't very well kick Jen and Jill out of their bedroom the night before Jen's wedding, now could I? Your brother's room was the only one left available; now, why don't you stop picking on me and make yourself useful by getting some mugs out for the tea…"

* * *

Meanwhile, Jen gently pushed open the door to her brother's bedroom with Chloe following close behind. "I hope you won't be too uncomfortable here…I'm bunking with Jill tonight just to make things easier before the Big Day, otherwise you could've had my bed…"

Chloe plopped her luggage down on the twin bed nearest the closet and let out a tired smile. "Believe me, this is fine…I just feel badly for putting Justin out."

Jen laughed. "Oh don't be, he's just being a baby, that's all. Besides, it's only for a few days and he spends all of his time in the basement anyway…" An uncomfortable silence quickly followed as Jen let her thought trail off. She stood in the middle of the room, studying the green-eyed, blond-haired woman as she unzipped her bag; she was trying to judge whether the woman who'd captured her older brother's heart, as kind as she appeared to be, was really and truly worthy of him.

The young, petite woman from Smallville pulled out a strawberry pink summer dress, the straps of which were still wrapped around a hanger, and hung it in front of the closet door. Chloe looked anxiously from the dress to the bride and back again. "I asked Jim what your color scheme was but, being a typical guy, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, 'I don't know. White?', so I really hope this dress doesn't clash…"

"No, no, it doesn't—it's lovely! I was just thinking that if I wasn't the one wearing white tomorrow I might have asked if I could borrow it," she replied honestly, chuckling quietly as she moved beside Chloe to finger the hem of the dress. "And my colors are sapphire blue and canary yellow."

"Those sound perfect," Chloe said, eying her boyfriend's sister closely as she spoke. She suspected that, while Jim didn't claim to play favorites among his siblings, he had a particularly soft spot for his middle sister and she desperately wanted to get into Jennifer's good graces. "So, are you nervous?"

Jennifer's head snapped up, giving Chloe the proverbial 'deer-in-the-headlights' look she'd seen her friend Clark perfect over the years. The bride-to-be spluttered. "I…well…that is…"

"I'm so sorry! Oh gosh, I haven't upset you, have I? Darn it, I'm just too curious for my own good sometimes…I did that to your brother on our second date too, I call it my 'insert-foot-in-mouth' disease…" she rambled apologetically.

"No, it wasn't you! It's just that, well, I am. In fact, I'm _really_ nervous," she said, her hands trembled as she sat on the bed beside Chloe's luggage. "But I can't tell Mom because it'll just make her ten times more anxious than she is already, and Jill's too young to really understand or help…"

Without even thinking, Chloe sat down beside the shaking woman and held her close. "It's perfectly ok to be nervous, Jennifer," she replied soothingly.

"Please, call me Jenny. Everyone in the family does."

A small smile crossed her lips as Chloe realized that she'd been _truly_ welcomed by at least one member of the Olsen clan. "Jenny, it's ok, really, it is."

"Are you sure? I mean—I love Brian, I really do, but I'm just so afraid something will go wrong: that I'll trip going down the aisle, or I'll say the wrong thing at the wrong time, or that Justin will forget the rings here at the house," without warning she started to sob.

"Hey there, it's alright!" Chloe said reassuringly, hugging her even closer. "You just said the most important thing already, and it's all you have to remember tonight and tomorrow, I promise."

"I did?" Jen asked, pulling away from Chloe's shoulder and rubbing her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse. "What did I say?"

"You said that you love Brian, and that's what tomorrow's all about, isn't it? So, whenever you start to feel anxious or panicky, just remember how much you love him. Everything else will work itself out, you'll see…and I'll make sure that Justin doesn't forget the rings," she added, winking playfully at Jenny.

"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Chloe once more. "You don't know what a weight you've just taken off my shoulders. I thought I'd burst with worry before I ever made it down the aisle! Thank you!"

"It's my pleasure. I'm just glad I could help."

Jen settled back and dabbed at her eyes once more until there were no more tears. "You're a great big sister, you know that?"

"Am I? That's interesting to know, because I'm an only child."

Jim's sister's mouth fell open in shock. "No!? Really?"

"Yes."

"That's too bad."

"Yes, it is," Chloe added wistfully. Growing up she'd always wanted siblings, but that became a non-issue once her mother's illness was disclosed. Wanting to change the subject and no longer dwell on such unhappy thoughts, Chloe turned her attention back to Jenny once more and cleared her throat. "I, uh, I hope you don't mind my asking, but I was wondering, I mean…and you don't have to answer this if you don't want to…I understand wanting to be loyal to your brother and all…" she looked up and caught the young woman's eye. "Right, I'm rambling; I do that, sorry. It's just that…um…has Jim ever brought any of his _other_ girlfriends home to meet the family?"

The question took the younger woman by surprise. Jen's golden blond locks brushed her shoulders as she shook her head emphatically. "No, he hasn't. I met one once when I visited him in Metropolis a few years ago, a Kimberly something-or-other, and sometimes he'd mention a girlfriend over the phone, but he's never brought one home before." She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry!" she said through her fingers, "I didn't mean to make you sound like some stray puppy dog that followed him home or something."

Chloe tipped her head back and laughed, reaching over and lowering Jen's hand away from her mouth. "That is the funniest thing I've heard all week! Ha ha ha ha ha!! Oh my…oh my goodness…" she said, trying to catch her breath. "I'm sorry…it's just, I'm a little nervous myself. You see, I'm new to this whole 'meet the parents' thing; no one's ever brought me home to meet their family before, so I don't exactly know the protocol."

Jen's eyes widened in surprise and she squeaked, "Really?"

"Yep."

She put a hand on Chloe's knee reassuringly. "Well, you've done a wonderful job fooling us so far," she winked, instantly putting the newcomer at ease. "Now, how about we head downstairs for that cup of tea? I think we could both use it."

"Yes let's, but I have just one more question, Jen."

"Shoot."

"What do you think your mother _really_ think of your brother's and my living arrangement in Metropolis?"

Cheryl and Jimmy's eyes turned upward as the sound of the young women's uproarious laughter suddenly cut through the stillness of the family kitchen.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Star of the Sea Church Cemetery,**_** September 13, 1984. **_I want to cry; I really want to cry and I want to SCREAM, so why can't I do either already?_ Leroy thought miserably as he stood beside his father's plain casket with a stoic expression on his face. Rose, Renee, Michelle and Penny stood around him with their spouses and children, crying and wailing freely…_So why can't I?_ He stood there silently, getting angry at himself and his own lack of reaction. The tall teenager looked down at little Anthony, the oldest of his nephews and nieces, standing beside him and emulating his uncle's emotionless expression as he stared hard at the box containing the remains of his grandfather. It angered Leroy that his seven year old nephew would copy him at a time like this, but he felt as though he couldn't say anything or even move, like he had been magically transformed into one of the stone monuments in the cemetery around him, and was unable participate in the service taking place before him. His fist clenched at his side, proving definitively that he was all too capable of some kind of motion.

Aaron had died in the emergency room of Metropolis General on the evening of September 11th; Rose and Leroy had rushed him there when they couldn't wake him up that morning. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch and he was still coughing, sometimes so violently that his whole body would seize while his eyes remained firmly closed. The doctors in the ER had informed them that Aaron had an advanced case of viral pneumonia; they were astonished to learn that he'd been walking around with this condition untreated for two and a half months.

"Mrs. Russell," Dr. Taylor explained quietly to his mother as Leroy and his sisters anxiously huddled together in the waiting room, impatient for news. "If what you're telling me is true, then I'm not sure just how effective our antibiotic treatment will be for your husband. Right now, he's still unresponsive and, well…" the thin man rubbed his hands together nervously, "I'm afraid that there's not much hope."

Rose set her jaw and demanded to be allowed at his bedside while Renee, Michelle and Penny broke down into tears. Leroy stayed by his sisters for five long hours until their mother returned, her face puffy and red and her cheeks wet from crying. "He came to, briefly, in the end," she said to them, in a voice barely above a whisper. "He said to tell you that he loved you all _so much_." That set his sisters wailing again and the women drew their arms around one another for comfort, leaving Leroy stunned, sitting alone in one of the unwelcoming chairs, two salty trickles making their way down the sides of his face.

He found out later from the doctor that the story wasn't true; Leroy went into the room where Aaron Russell's body lay in a bag on the bed waiting to be taken down to the morgue, and he asked the doctor if his father had regained consciousness, even momentarily. "No Son, I'm afraid not. His body simply gave out from fighting the virus…he never woke up." Leroy nodded and collected the few personal articles on the nightstand beside the bed before leaving the hospital. He never told his sisters about their mother's lie, nor did he ever intend to.

Leroy came back to himself just as the groundskeepers lowered the coffin into the ground and the mourners began to disperse. He was surprised at the number of people who turned out to pay their final respects to his father; he saw Mr. Luciano in the crowd with his own family beside him and, standing a few feet away, was Joseph Lovell, his dad's old business partner. Then there was Yasmin, along with several other business owners who'd been hurt by the fires, murmuring to his mother about how grateful they were for all that his father had done for them. It bolstered Leroy's spirits ever so slightly to know that his father had had such a profound effect on the community and that he would be truly missed by so many people outside of their own family circle.

The coffin touched ground six feet below, and he gazed at it once more. He kept breathing, but Leroy knew at that moment that his heart had forever ceased to beat; his father was dead, and there was no power on Earth that could ever bring him back again. There were so many words of wisdom left to impart, so many life-affirming events left to be witnessed by the fifty-nine year old patriarch of the Russell family, but the cold hard truth was that those moments would all go unnoticed and those things unsaid because his lifeless body was now interred in the ground forever. Leroy walked over and grasped a handful of dirt, squeezing it tight until it seeped from his fingers like sand in an hourglass before he thrust it on top of the simple, pine box.

He turned his back on his family then and walked away from the grave site alone—the full weight of his grief coming to rest heavily upon his young shoulders and gnawing hungrily at his soul.

* * *

_**Mayfield, CT,**_** June 12, 2009. **The day of the wedding found Jimmy standing in front of the mirror in the upstairs bathroom of his boyhood home, readjusting his bowtie for the umpteenth time. He took a step back and critically examined his image, running his hand through his hair once more. _Perfect…_

The serene moment lasted less than a second. "OW! Justin, that was my foot!" he yelped in pain as his youngest brother inadvertently crushed his toes.

"Sorry, Jimmy, I was just trying to reach the hair gel…"

"Oh no, you don't," Josh said, snatching the bottle out of his brother's reach. "You've got enough product in there to hold your hair over 'til the next millennium, Bro. Besides, this is _my_ hair gel," he added, dabbing a little more on the sides of his slicked back 'do. Jenny had convinced her mangy-looking brother to tie back his hair and trim his beard prior to the nuptials, and Jimmy had to admit that Josh didn't look half bad when he was all cleaned up.

"Hey now, I'll be the judge of whether I have too much or too little gel, now hand the bottle over…" and Justin made another grab at the bottle in his brother's hands.

"Come on you guys, knock it off!" Jim cried out, trying to intervene.

"BOYS!" Cheryl's voice rang out from the doorway. "Enough bickering! Can't you at least behave today of all days?" She shot them her 'look', instantly silencing them. "Now, are you almost done in here? The photographer is downstairs and we've been waiting on you."

"Yes, Mom"

"We're coming!"

"Be right there."

* * *

A smile crossed Cheryl's face as she moved on down the hallway, the flower girl and ring-bearer gleefully running ahead of her, glad that her family was able to come together for such an important occasion…_Not that they wouldn't have come for Jenny's wedding, _she thought as she reached the top of the steps, _but it's nice to see them all so close, even as adults, and to know that they're there for one another. It means I've done something right_.

So far, everything was running smoothly in preparation for her daughter's wedding, which was just as they'd planned; she only hoped that Jennifer's union would result in a much happier marriage then her own and after getting to know Brian so well she was sure that it would. Pushing all thoughts of the long-absent Mr. Olsen out of her mind, Cheryl was about to descend into the living room when she caught Chloe coming up the steps.

"If you're looking for James, Dear, he'll be down in a moment," she said, trying to usher the young woman back down the stairwell.

Chloe persisted on her way upstairs. "Oh no, it's not that; Jenny asked me to check on Justin to make sure that he had the rings."

A distracted look crossed Cheryl's face momentarily. _Did she really just refer to my daughter as Jenny? She only allows family to call her that…and how did Chloe know that Justin was holding onto the rings?_ "Oh, I see," she said slowly, unable to comprehend just how this young woman had become so ingrained into her family in only half a day's time. She shook her head in confusion and let go of Chloe's arm, allowing the perky blonde to continue on up to the second floor.

* * *

Chloe popped her head in the open doorway of the bathroom a moment later. "Hey Boys…"

"Woo-woo," Josh whistled as he caught sight of her.

"Yowzer," the youngest brother added.

Jim shot them a look. "Cut that out guys! This is my _girlfriend_ you're talking to here, show a little respect! Besides, didn't you just hear Mom tell us all to _behave_?" he asked, nudging Justin roughly in the side. The young man turned bright red and resumed his bickering with Josh over the hair gel, turning his back on the love birds. Jim turned to face Chloe then, looking very regal in his tux, and he drank in the vision she made in her pink summer dress.

"You look very handsome, Jim," she remarked, leaning in for a kiss.

He drew his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, steadfastly ignoring the prying eyes of his brothers. "And you," he added, nibbling on her lower lip, "look positively good enough to eat." They stayed kissing like that in the doorway a moment more before Josh let out an obvious cough.

"Um, would you like us to give you two some privacy?" he asked teasingly, elbowing Justin amusedly as they laughed at their older brother's expense.

Chloe watched Jim's ears grow bright red and she immediately took charge of the situation. "Very funny, guys…now, I came up here on an express errand for the bride. Justin, Jenny wants to know if you have the wedding rings on you."

"Of course I do!" he cried exasperatedly, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. "Geez, she doesn't trust anyone anymore, does she?! Sending you after me to do her bidding…she's only asked me like a million times! The rings are _right_ here in my inner pocket…" Justin opened up his tuxedo jacket and reached into the pocket in question, only to find it empty. "Oh shit—where'd they go!? Oh shit, Jen's gonna kill me!!"

"Not if Mom gets to you first, Bro," Josh teased mercilessly, not helping the situation any.

"Justin!" Chloe fairly barked his name to get the young man's attention. "When's the last time you remember seeing the rings?" she asked in a more subdued voice, remaining calm in an effort to locate the missing wedding bands.

He put a hand to his chin in thought. "Let's see…Jen came down to see me after getting back from her hair appointment…she took the box off my bureau where I put it front and center so I wouldn't forget it, saying something about how important the rings were, then she put it back down…they're still on the dresser!" he shouted, bolting out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the basement. Josh let out a hearty laugh and trotted after his brother, down the stairs and to his mother and the waiting photographer.

"It's a darn good thing you're here," Jimmy chimed in after his brother left. "Or Jenny and Mom really would've killed him for forgetting those rings."

"I know. You have no idea how stressed your sister is, Jim. She's trying to hold it together so your Mom won't freak out anymore than she already is, so just try to keep the teasing to a minimum today, ok? I've noticed its more Josh and Justin then you, but still…"

He leaned over and kissed her in the middle of her forehead, grateful for the concern she was showing for Jenny, even though they'd only met less than twenty-four hours before. "I know, and I'm already on it. Why do you think I've been keeping them out of her hair all day?"

"You're a good brother…and a good man," she said, leaning into his embrace and enjoying a few stolen moments together.

"James?!" Cheryl's voice shrilled up the stairs. The young couple could hear the disapproval in her tone. "We're waiting for you!"

"Coming!" he shouted back, before he and Chloe could dissolve into laughter.

"She's not going to give us a minute's peace, is she?"

Jim shook his head. "Not while we're in the great state of Connecticut, no," he answered, chuckling. He grasped her hand and led her toward the stairwell and the rest of the waiting wedding party, whilst preparing himself to face the front of the camera instead of getting behind it.

* * *

With the help of the ushers, the guests were quickly seated in the pews at the church; Chloe took a seat near the back of the bride's side, hoping to stay out of Mrs. Olsen's line of sight during the ceremony. Jimmy found her five minutes before they were to begin and touched her on the shoulder, looking deadly serious and quietly beckoning her to follow.

"What is it, Jim? What's the problem?" she asked mutedly when they were in the lobby of the church and away from the other wedding guests.

He pointed toward an anteroom where the bridal party had been secreted away before the processional. "I think something's off. They won't let me in and they won't tell me what's wrong, but I know my sister and I can tell by her tone of voice that something is definitely not right."

Chloe nodded, tightening her grip on the clutch in her hand. "I'll be right back." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before knocking quietly on the door and quickly letting herself in before anyone could rebuff her.

The bride was seated on a wooden chair in the middle of the room, breathing into a brown paper bag with her sister, Jill, standing over her and the anxious mothers and bridesmaids hovering in a circle around them. "I'm sorry, Jen, I really am…I thought we had everything when we left the house, I'm so sorry…" she heard Jill repeating over and over again.

Jenny looked up and locked eyes with the newcomer, flying off the chair and into her arms. Stepping back from Chloe, she grasped the older woman's hands and cried out, "Oh Chloe, I don't know what to do! I have my something old from Mom," she reached up, fingering one of her diamond solitaire earrings. "My something borrowed from Sheila," she glanced at the simple, silver bracelet on her left wrist, "And my something blue is my garter, but I don't have anything new! I can't walk down the aisle without anything new!" Jenny wailed. The bride was nearly hysterical as all her anxieties and fears over the impending nuptials came to a head in that moment; worse still, Jen was adamant that the wedding couldn't proceed unless she had something new on her person. She didn't want to risk bad luck on her wedding day to Brian.

Cheryl watched in awe as her oldest son's girlfriend gently extricated herself from Jen's grip and, with a knowing smile, reached into her purse and pulled out a square, white box tied with a red bow. "I had a feeling you might need this; the same thing happened when I was Maid of Honor at my friend Lois' wedding last year. Go ahead, open it…I was going to give it to you after the service if you didn't have a need for it before," she explained, pushing the small box into Jenny's hands.

The bride took the package and sat back down, her trembling fingers struggling with the knot. When she pulled the top off, her eyes were met with two brand-new hair pins with cobalt-colored gems glued onto the ends. "It's new _and_ blue!" the young woman exclaimed, jumping up again, full of nervous energy, to give her brother's girlfriend another hug. "Oh thank you, thank you so much! You've saved my wedding! Thank you!!"

Chloe flashed a genuine smile, glad to have given so much pleasure with such a simple gift; she took the pins out of the box and ushered Jenny over to the mirror so she could place them into her intricate up-do without ruining it. "I figured I'd cover my bases with the blue gems…if worse came to worst I could _lend_ these _new_ hair pins to you, but I see your mother and mother-in-law have you all set in those departments." She pushed the last pin into place. "There, you look beautiful." She spun Jenny around. "Now, what do you say we get you down that aisle?"

Jenny nodded, trying to will away the happy tears before they fell down her face, while Cheryl stood just behind her, awed at how this newcomer had remedied the situation so effortlessly. Chloe squeezed Jen's hands back and nodded, slipping out of the room a step ahead of the wedding party. Jimmy paced anxiously in front of the doorway.

"Everything's fine, Jim," she said, reaching a hand out to stop him mid-walk. "I'll see you after the ceremony." Without another word, she took off through the side doors and back to her seat as Jenny came out to take her place calmly by her brother's side.

* * *

_**Bellevedere Function Room, Mayfield, CT, **_**June 12, 2009. **"Ladies and Gentleman, it is my pleasure to present the happy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Brian Colby!" the DJ announced, followed closely by raucous cheering and whistling. Jenny and Brian fairly floated into the room, arm-in-arm, positively beaming as their newlywed status was proclaimed for all to hear. Chloe cheered the loudest at her table, clapping her hands and whooping for the couple, as Jimmy sidled up behind her.

"I don't know what you did, but whatever it was you're a miracle worker. I've never seen Jenny happier," he whispered in her ear, startling her. The newlyweds took to the center of the room for their first dance as husband and wife while everyone else resumed their seats. Chloe turned to face Jim as he claimed the vacant seat next to her.

"I didn't do anything," she whispered, sitting knee-to-knee with him. "I just calmed down a jittery bride…and I'm pretty sure that smile is on her face because of Brian, not me."

"Well, you're still a miracle worker to me," he replied huskily, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her softly on the lips. Holding hands, they soon turned their attention back to the couple on the dance floor, watching them spin around in a slow waltz and letting the newlyweds' bliss suffuse their own happiness.

* * *

The party progressed nicely as the hours rolled on, and the Olsen kids were now tearing up the dance floor with the other twenty and thirty-something's in attendance while the older folks sat on the periphery and watched. Chloe had begged to be released from this last dance however, her feet being unable to take the abuse any longer, and she cursed herself for not breaking in her new heels properly prior to the trip. She'd spent the last two hours out on the dance floor, mostly on Jim's arm, only occasionally exchanging it for Brian, Josh or Justin's, and she hated leaving the happy circle.

Chloe watched with an amused expression on her face as Josh tried a pick-up line on yet _another_ bridesmaid, while Justin, Jill and Jim shimmied, gyrated and spun in a small circle of family friends with Brian and Jen close by. Cheryl stepped into view just then, catching the young woman's attention.

"May I join you for a moment?"

"Please," Chloe replied, gesturing to a recently vacated seat beside her as she let go of the foot she'd been rubbing. "This is such a lovely party you planned…I only wish my feet appreciated it as much as I do!"

"Oh, well thank you…but this was mostly Jenny's doing, I only helped when she asked me to. I came over here for another reason though: I wanted to thank you for what you did for my daughter today. She was right, earlier, when she said that you saved her wedding." She placed a hand gently on Chloe's forearm.

"It was nothing, Mrs. Olsen, really…"

"Please, call me Cheryl. And it _was_ something, Chloe. My daughter's known you for only twenty-four hours, and yet she trusts you almost as implicitly as she does James." Both women turned to look at Jim when he burst into laughter at Justin's antics just then; the youngest Olsen was trying to break dance and failing miserably.

"Well, I know how nervous she was about today, but really, I'm just glad I could help."

Cheryl smiled at her and let go of her arm without breaking her gaze. "I know I haven't been very welcoming to you since you first arrived…" Chloe bit her tongue in an effort to swallow her knee-jerk, smart-aleck response, "But it's always different with your first born. I don't know how to explain why, but someday you'll see…"

"Mrs. Olsen…"

"Cheryl."

"Cheryl, I know you think our arrangement in Metropolis was made," she searched for the right word to use, "_hastily_, but I want you to know that I do love your son, and I wouldn't have agreed to live with him if I didn't think we were ready for that kind of commitment. I've never lived with anyone else before, expressly for that reason."

Cheryl Olsen gripped Chloe's hands in hers as she spoke to her in earnest. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I do; I've never lived with anyone else before Jim."

"No, what you said before…about loving him?" the older woman asked cautiously.

"Yes, I do. I love him," she answered honestly and without hesitation.

* * *

Out on the dance floor, Jim noticed Jen looking intently over his shoulder, and turned so he could see what she was staring at. The sight of his mother and girlfriend embroiled in a serious discussion met his eye and he made a move to intervene, not wanting his mother to give Chloe anymore grief. His jaw hit the floor when he saw the two women hug each other. Jen watched the exchange as well, and leaned in to whisper in her brother's ear, "Well Jimmy, it looks like she's finally been welcomed into the family by everyone; now all you have to do is make it official. Good luck getting Mom to plan another one of these though!" He gawked at his married sister as she let out a hearty laugh at his dazed expression. Just then, her husband came up to spin her around some more, leaving Jim standing still, in shock, and getting jostled left and right by enthusiastic dancers as he found himself seriously contemplating her words.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Truman High School, East Side Slums, **_**June 8, 1986. **"Oh Leroy, I am so proud of you!!" his mother exclaimed as she rushed to his side, her ill-fitting, blue patterned dress flying loosely in the breeze. She'd lost a lot of weight in the two years since his father's death, despite the fact that Mr. Luciano oftentimes sent food home with him as part of his payment. Rose's appetite for life—and for life-giving food—had diminished greatly with the death of her soul mate.

"Thanks Mom," he replied, giving her a half-hearted smile. She stared up into his face until he quickly flashed his teeth, before moving in for another hug.

"My son, the high school graduate," she whispered into his ear as she held him close, the hard case of his diploma digging into her thin back as he wrapped his arms around her. Stepping back, she looked him over and wistfully added, "You don't know how happy this would have made your father too; he'd be even prouder then I am right now, if such a thing were possible."

All traces of a smile were quickly wiped off his face at the mention of his father; he winced and stepped back from her, feeling as though lemon juice were being squeezed into a thousand tiny paper cuts all over his body. The last time he'd even talked about his father was the day the family had gone through Aaron's belongings about a month after the funeral; Leroy had stopped his mother when she had picked up a box of ties from the bedroom closet floor preparing to add them to the Goodwill pile.

"Wait! Stop!" he'd cried, catching her arm and quickly rifling through the box's contents. He pulled out his father's gray tie, tucking it into his back pocket for safe keeping. "It was Dad's favorite…" he replied to her unasked question, before they got back to their work.

Rose hadn't seen the tie since, nor had she heard Leroy utter the word 'Dad' even once since that fateful day.

His sisters and their families soon came over to congratulate him; little Anthony being so bold as to walk up to his uncle with arms outstretched, ready to take the diploma from the newly-conferred graduate.

"Uncle, can I?" he asked in a tiny voice.

Leroy crouched down in his cap and gown so he was at eye-level with his eight and a half year old nephew. "It's 'May I?', and yes, you may." The boy marveled at the square object adorned with fancy lettering in his hands; his uncle sent up a silent wish that his nephew might follow his example and earn a diploma of his own to show off to the family someday.

The Russell family all managed to fit into the tiny apartment Leroy and his mother still shared for a small party in his honor. The following day he would be hanging up his cap and gown forever—he had abandoned any notions of college and placed them firmly out of reach following the death of his father. He would be returning to Luciano's Market as a full-time stock boy and cashier.

Money had to be made and the bills didn't pay themselves…_After all, life does go on, _Leroy thought wryly as he bit into a slice of homemade chocolate cake.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**July 4, 2009. **Chloe and Jim stood outside Lois and Clark's apartment building, hand-in-hand, one holding a large bowl of potato salad and the other a bowl of coleslaw. The Kent's were hosting their first large party as a married couple, choosing the Fourth of July as an auspicious occasion for such an event, and they had started inviting friends and family as soon as they secured permission from their landlord to use the rooftop space.

"Hey guys! You're right on time! Come on in…let me help you with that," Clark cried out, taking the potato salad from the young woman as she and Jim ambled over to the elevator. Their tall, bumbling friend quickly followed, nearly dumping the salad all over himself. Chloe stifled a snort and Jim chuckled quietly at Clark's antics.

"Thanks again for inviting us, CK."

"Don't even mention it! Lois and I are so glad you guys could make it...we weren't really sure, since everything was so last minute and all…

Chloe turned in the elevator cabin to face her friend. "So, who else is here?"

Clark pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before replying. "Let's see: Ella and the General are here, so is Perry and a couple other people from the office, Jason's friend Danny and his family dropped by…oh, and Richard White's here too."

Jimmy's expressive, brown eyes widened in surprise and alarm. "Richard? As in, Richard, used-to-be-engaged-to-Lois-who's-now-your-wife…_that_ Richard?"

"Uh huh, one and the same." He flashed a wide grin. "Chloe, you'll like him—he's a good guy."

Still in a mild state of shock, the young photographer asked without thinking, "How did he even get invited?" Realizing quickly how rude that sounded, he added, "I mean—did he fly all the way out from Washington just to be here for the party?"

"No, he was in town visiting Perry and it would've been rude _not_ to invite him. And we all get along well enough, not to mention that he is Jason's uncle, so the more the merrier, right?"

"Oh."

"He also brought his girlfriend, Sarah, with him too. She and Lois are in the apartment now putting some final touches on the meat before taking it up to the grill."

Chloe smiled at her friend as the elevator finally opened onto his floor. "I think I'll go join them—see if I can't lend a hand. Meet you boys on the roof in a minute?" she asked cheerfully as she winked and disappeared into the hallway.

"Sure Clo, see you in a sec."

The doors closed behind her and Clark pushed the button for the top floor as he took the opportunity to glance over at his friend. He watched Jim visibly relax at the mention of Sarah, and Clark gently nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "You thought he came just to try to steal Lois back, didn't you?" he teased, an impish smile playing across his lips.

"N-no, no! I just thought it odd…"

"Relax Jim, it's alright. We're all adults about this. Yeah, Richard was hurt by the break-up but we've all moved on. I think he's really happy with Sarah; she seems better suited to him somehow. Besides, you and I both know that Lois wouldn't let him get away with _anything_…"

"She'd give him a black eye if he tried and not even bat an eyelash," Jim finished the sentence, completely serious.

Clark nearly upset the potato salad again he was laughing so hard; the two friends exited the elevator in between gales of laughter and headed for the stairwell to the roof, completely relaxed, care-free and ready to enjoy the holiday.

* * *

After an hour, he could see for himself that any awkwardness that might have existed between Lois, Clark and Richard was non-existent; once he realized this Jim finally relaxed and began to thoroughly enjoy the party. He stood a little ways off against the South wall, watching curiously as Clark re-emerged from the stairwell for the fourth time since they'd arrived; this time, however, he had donned an apron and was precariously balancing a tray of uncooked hot dogs in one broad hand while the other sported a casserole mitt and a pair of tongs. Having never been much of a barbecuer himself, Jim watched raptly as Clark spent several minutes adding the meat to the grill and rearranging it to his liking.

"I really don't think you need to spear it like that, Son," the General informed him as he leaned over the barbeque.

"Oh r-really? Because it didn't look c-cooked enough on that s-side and I didn't want to burn myself turning it…"

Sam Lane absconded the tongs from his hapless son-in-law and, firmly moving the young man aside, showed him how it was supposed to be done. Jimmy watched the exchange from several feet away, shaking his head, thankful he didn't have a father-in-law like the General, _Though it must be nice for Clark to have a father figure around again, _he thought. His gaze immediately crossed the roof to where his girlfriend stood, surrounded by Ella Lane and a few other women he didn't recognize, holding a drink and laughing. _The man that raised a woman like Chloe would have to be a good man and father too_. The words lingered about in the forefront of his mind a minute longer before he realized that he was actually considering Mr. Sullivan as a potential father-in-law, something Jim had never allowed himself to even consider with past girlfriends. His face fell slack in shock as though the wind had been knocked right out of his gut.

"Another beer, Jimmy?" Having just been shooed away from the grill, Clark broke the young photographer from his train of thought.

Jim glanced down at the nearly empty bottle in his hand. "Uh, y-yeah, CK, another beer sounds great."

"Swell! Let me just…" his friend trailed off as he focused his attention out over the tops of the buildings. Jimmy followed Clark's gaze, trying to find what was so captivating, until Lois approached with the baby in her arms.

"Honey, could you…" she quickly noted the 'look' upon her husband's face and stopped herself short of asking whatever was on her mind.

Clark shook his head, refocusing, and looked down at her, "Sure, I'll go get that from the apartment. Be right back!" He slipped the 'Kiss the Cook' apron from around his neck and handed it to her; he gave her a quick peck on the cheek before dodging the other party-goers rather nimbly on his way to the stairwell.

Jim watched his friends, puzzled. "But…you didn't even ask him for anything."

"Hmm?" Lois asked, turning to Jimmy as if noticing him for the first time.

"You didn't even ask CK to get you anything, so what did he run back into the building for?"

She glanced away as she wracked her brain for a plausible answer before meeting his gaze once more. "Oh, you know, I was just going to ask him to bring up some more beers for the cooler, but he must've already known that's what I needed because your drink looks like it could use some freshening up. I'm sure he'll be back in a…" she trailed off again when she caught sight of Jason and his friend playing near the now-unattended grill. "Jason! I told you and Danny to stay away from there, it's dangerous! Perry—could you grab the boys, please?!" she called out, stalking off in her son's direction with the baby bouncing on her hip.

* * *

"So, Jimmy, how's the wide world of photography?" Richard asked politely. Chloe and Sarah near their respective dates; the four of them had spent the last fifteen minutes getting better acquainted.

"Oh, you know, not bad…" he paused to sip carefully from his drink, "I'm still mostly on the Superman beat and I've been able to get some really great shots—nothing front page recently—but soon, I'm sure. Before that I was helping CK do research for the Ladykiller story…"

"Olsen!" Perry bellowed, making the young man nearly leap from his skin. The editor stood on the other side of the rooftop, deep in a serious discussion with General Lane and couldn't be bothered to move. "Can you see if there are anymore of those cream puff things on the table over there and grab me a few?" Summarily dismissing his photographer, Perry turned back to his companion, "My cardiologist will have my head…"

"But Sir, we're out of the office, and it's the Fourth of July; I really don't think…"

"Olsen! I don't pay you to think—I pay you to do!" the Chief barked again, sharper this time, wholly forgetting that they were not on company property _or_ on company time.

Jim's shoulders slumped in resignation as fear for his job won out over pride. "Yes, Sir." He slipped his arm from around Chloe's waist and walked off in search of the desserts.

She shook her head and clucked at the way Perry White used her boyfriend as his own personal gofer, mentally uttering a few choice words that were dancing on the tip of her tongue at the inequity of the situation. She was distracted from her nonverbal thrashing of Jim's boss when she caught sight of Clark re-emerging from the stairwell absentmindedly adjusting his non-existing tie. _That's the twelfth time today…_she thought as she watched him slip back into the small circle of guests around Lois. _I only hope that no one else is counting Clark's ins and outs like I am._ Chloe's gaze quickly darted back to Jim where he stood over the dessert tray, his sandy brown eyebrows knitted tightly together. She sighed quietly in relief at her boyfriend's blissful ignorance as he concentrated on piling high a napkin with the Chief's sought-after cream puffs.

* * *

Later, Clark stood off to one side, talking to his son while his daughter hung from her carrier strapped to the front of his broad chest. Haley's arms flailed and she kicked her legs excitedly as she tried, unsuccessfully, to take the Metropolis Meteors baseball cap that was perched on her brother's head.

"Dad, I like the _other_ way you make hot dogs better," Jason informed him, stuffing the last of the offending morsel into his mouth while dodging his sister's playful grasp.

"Really? You like them boiled instead of grilled? Because you know, they all taste the same going down…" he replied conspiratorially, a teasing smile spreading across his face and a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eye belying the seriousness of his tone.

"DA-AD!" the young boy cried out indignantly. "You know what I mean!"

Clark's mouth fell open in mock surprise. "OH, you mean _that way_…I see! Well, Son, I suppose it's true then, that no one else can make a hot dog quite like your Old Man…now tell me, how many hot dogs have you had today?"

Jason's face flushed bright red and he looked down at the ground sheepishly. "Three…"

"Three?! You're getting to be a regular bottomless pit, you know that? Your mom and I are going to have to each get a second job just to be able to feed you…" he started tickling Jason then, causing both of his children to giggle with delight. "And did you eat all those hot dogs before or after your Nana gave you ice cream for dessert?"

"Umm…" was all the answer Clark got before he started tickling his boy anew. When the sounds of another small child in distress several blocks away reached his ears, he stopped what he was doing and his voice became deadly serious. "Go talk to your grandfather now, Jason, I'll be right back." The boy nodded his head as he recognized his father's change in tone and walked away as Clark strode purposefully to the stairwell, perfunctorily detaching his daughter from her carrier and handing her off to a bewildered Chloe before exiting the party once again.

The young woman was taken aback by the sudden presentation of the cooing infant in her arms until she realized just who had deposited her there and why. Shrugging off the swift departure of her friend she turned her attention back to the baby once more.

"You are getting so big, Haley! And so cute too! Oh I could just eat you up…there's my good little niece, yes…your father is one busy busy guy today, did you know that? Hmmm?" she prattled on quietly in a baby voice before sidling up to Jim. He marveled at how large his hand looked as he stroked Haley's dark, downy hair and chuckled as Chloe continued cooing at the child. Jim leaned over to kiss Chloe on the cheek, smiling at the picture of domesticity they made; all too soon the tranquil mood was broken as their attention was caught by the Man of Steel as he soared above the buildings several blocks away, carefully balancing a car on his back and speeding towards what looked like Metropolis General Hospital.

* * *

Chloe and Jimmy were the last to leave, finally hastening home to their own apartment's rooftop to watch the huge fireworks display and cuddle. She snuggled against his chest as they lay sprawled out on a blanket on the roof, watching the colors burst forth in the night sky above them.

"Sweetheart, I have an odd question for you," he started, leaning down to look at her.

"Ok, shoot."

"You've known Clark a long time, and well…has he always been so…scatterbrained? I mean, I like him a lot and we hang out both in and out of the office, but sometimes it seems like he'd forget his own head if it weren't screwed on, you know?"

Chloe snorted in laughter. "Scatterbrained? Clark? Jim, I…" she paused then, suddenly realizing that their friend had ducked out of the party over twenty times, each time with a different excuse about supplies needed for the party. _It really does look like he's absentminded, doesn't it? I guess it's a good thing he chose the klutzy persona for around the office and here in the city…_

"Chloe? You ok there?" Jim asked concernedly, twisting around to get a better look at her.

"What? Oh I'm fine—it's just that the question kind of caught me off guard, that's all."

"Sorry. You don't have to answer it if you don't want to, it's just that I always thought that the forgetfulness was an office-only type thing, but it seemed like it was happening a lot more often today than even in the bullpen."

She paused and chose her next words carefully. "I suppose Clark's always been a bit on the forgetful side, and there were times when he was a little flighty in high school, but I guess I've just known him for so long now that I don't even really notice anymore."

"Oh, ok."

Seeing that she'd finally satisfied his curiosity, Chloe turned back around to enjoy the pyrotechnics; but not before making a mental note to check-in later with Clark about this potentially developing situation.

* * *

Across town, the Kent family also watched the light show from their roof; once it was over, Lois and Clark herded Jason downstairs to bed and put Haley down for the night before beginning the clean-up effort. The duo worked at a leisurely pace, demonstrating the teamwork for which they were famous as they brought everything down from the roof before attacking the kitchen, washing dishes and putting away the left over food.

"I don't think that was the brightest idea we've ever had…" Clark muttered as he put a piece of cling wrap over the bowl of dip and stuck it in the refrigerator.

"We? Hey, don't blame me…I knew this holiday would be one of your busiest but you said, and I quote, 'Oh no, don't worry about me, Honey, I can handle it! Let's go ahead and have some friends over! It'll be fun'." Lois chanced a look up as she finished her imitation of her husband, maneuvering around him to place a bag of potato chips in the cupboard.

"I don't really talk like that, do I?"

She shot him another look.

"Oh good grief…ok, I admit it was a bad idea and that it was _entirely _my fault. Moving on now…do you think anyone _else_ noticed?"

Lois stopped moving around the kitchen for a moment and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think Perry suspected anything—he was too busy talking with my father—and Richard was preoccupied with Sarah to take much notice of what you or I were doing…Chloe saw but she just took it as par for the course, so I think the only person who may have found your disappearances odd is Jimmy. I don't think he suspects 'the secret', per se, but his curiosity may have been more than just a little piqued as to why you were constantly in and out all the time."

"Ugh!" Clark lamented, clasping a hand to his forehead, "Just who I _don't_ want to make suspicious of me…great. That's just GREAT!"

"Would it be so bad to tell him?" Lois shot him a sympathetic look as she rinsed out another bowl in the sink. "I mean—Chloe loves him and obviously trusts him, not to mention that he is _our _friend so we should be able to trust him too. Besides, I really don't think he'd tell anyone."

Clark sighed as he sat down heavily at the kitchen table. "It's not that I don't trust him…" he trailed off.

"But?"

"It's just…well…the relationship I have with Jimmy is—for lack of a better word—uncomplicated. I like having a friend that I can just be a 'normal' guy around. You know—shoot hoops, drink beer and all of that other male bonding stuff," he heaved a long-suffering sigh and propped his chin in his hands, moping.

"Honey, you act like it's the end of the world. You can still do all of that with him once he's 'in the know'."

Clark rolled his eyes when he responded. "Lois, seriously, you've seen how Jim acts when he's around Superman. He gets all starry-eyed, awe-struck and tongue-tied—it's hero worship, plain and simple. Do you really think I could just 'hang out' with him then, even if I wasn't in _the_ suit?"

"You've got a point," he fixed his wife with his patented "duh" look. Lois giggled—he could say so much with a look—before pressing on, "But who knows? Jimmy just might surprise you."

"But I don't want to take that chance. Besides, if I tell Jimmy, how long will it be before we have this talk about letting Perry in on the secret? Or your mother or father? Or, heaven forbid, Ralph or Gil? Where do I draw the line?"

Lois just shrugged in response to his rhetorical question before continuing to put the leftovers away.

"Well, I guess all I can really do at this point is check in with Chloe tomorrow to find out if she thinks he's onto me."

* * *

"_Clark_!" he stirred when he heard his name whispered loudly in the middle of the night. His blue eyes popped open and he looked for his wife, assuming she had called out to him, but she was sound asleep, curled up in bed next to him. He cocked his head and listened again.

"_Clark_!" It was Chloe calling for him, but she didn't appear to be in distress. Silently, he slipped out of bed and into the suit, before disappearing out the window into the night sky.

She was about to call out to her friend again, when a deep baritone voice resounded from behind her, "You rang?"

"OH GEEZ!" she shrieked as she nearly jumped out of her skin. She darted her gaze all around to make sure she didn't wake any of the neighbors. "Give me some warning before you do that!"

He shrugged his wide shoulders carelessly, "Sorry, but I don't particularly like being roused out of bed in the middle of the night by a non-emergency."

"Point taken—but this is important and I had to wait until Jim was asleep so I could talk to you alone. He was asking me earlier if you've always been so 'scatterbrained'; I think he might suspect _something_, but whether that something is Superman, is hard to say."

Clark sighed. "Lois and I talked about this earlier, but I couldn't help leaving during the party—too many people needed my assistance. Anyway, what did you tell him?"

"Well I didn't exactly want to _lie_ to him, so I just told him that, back in high school, you were a little flighty but that I've…"

"_Flighty_?! You used the word flighty?"

"Why? What's wrong with the—" but before she could finish her question she heard the crisp snap of his cape as it flapped in the breeze and she glanced up in time to catch his pointed look. "Oh. Sorry. It wasn't intentional."

Clark looked down at the tips of his boots and x-rayed through the floors until his gaze came to rest on Jimmy, sprawled on his back, sleeping with one arm flung out into the space where Chloe was supposed to be. "It's fine Clo, just think about your choice of words next time, ok? I really don't think he suspects this," Clark said, holding out his cape in one hand, "I appreciate the head's up and I'll remember to be a bit more careful in the future too…" he cocked his head to one side as he'd been doing all afternoon and she turned to face the same direction. As far as she could tell, nothing appeared to be amiss on the horizon. "Gotta go—duty calls. See you later!" Clark said in one breath before taking off quickly, leaving her alone on the roof hair whipping around her face in the back draft of his take-off.

"Good night!" she called out quietly to his retreating figure knowing he could hear her before descending the stairs. Satisfied that she'd done what she had set out to do, Chloe silently slipped back into the apartment and beneath the soft cotton sheet on the bed that she and Jimmy shared. Still asleep, he instantly shifted his position, draping a heavy arm around her waist and pulling her into the curve of his body. As the young woman quickly succumbed to her weariness she smiled, secure in the knowledge that she was still a guardian of Clark's secret and grateful to have kept her boyfriend blissfully in the dark for the foreseeable future, if only for her friend's sake.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Just a quick warning that there is a little bit of swearing done in this chapter by a minor character. Sorry if it offends anyone.

* * *

_**Luciano's Market, East Side Slums, **_**February 12, 1988.** Leroy watched the men across the street out of the corner of his eye as he rang up Mrs. Delgado's purchases. He'd spent the last year and a half working at the market as a jack-of-all-trades—working the register, stocking the shelves, ordering supplies, cleaning the aisles, driving the delivery van—and, what's more, he kept his nose clean while he did it. The men across the street, boys really, if you looked at them long enough, tried hassling him a few times in the beginning but grew tired of being ignored and soon left him alone. Leroy and his boss both knew about the drugs they were peddling and wanted nothing to do with that. _It's hard enough making ends meet without shooting it all up your arm or snorting it up your nose…_he thought as he handed the plastic bag over the middle-aged woman before him.

Pasquale was grateful to have someone like Leroy in his employ; the young man was well-kempt, unlike others in the neighborhood around his age, and he was always punctual. The old Italian's only complaints were that the boy never smiled, not even to some of the customers who claimed to be his friends, and as of late he seemed to be more and more preoccupied with the young men loitering across the street. There'd been quite a few raids in the last few months, with the police pulling up to the curb, sirens wailing, and Pasquale would always turn and find Leroy's eyes on them as if he were reading from a precious book, soaking the knowledge in. His obsession with the drug runners was bordering on the unhealthy.

That evening Leroy gave the floors of the shop one last thorough sweeping, then entered the storage room and hung his pine green apron on the hook by the door. His boss had left not fifteen minutes before, and he stood alone in the store, surveying everything with a keen and critical eye. He turned to the mirror above the hand-washing sink behind him and smoothed out the wrinkles in his white button-up shirt. Carefully, lovingly, he reached into his right hand pocket and pulled out the gray tie that had once belonged to his father and slipped it around his neck. A few moments later and with a careful pull of the knot at his neck, he pulled his winter coat on over his shoulders and strode over to the back door, turning off the lights and locking up the shop for the night.

The words never needed to be said out loud, but everyone in the neighborhood knew what the boys on the street corner were up to—the neighborhood always knew—which was precisely how Leroy's feet knew to carry him to one of the unobtrusive warehouses along the waterfront that Friday evening. Everything about the building was mundane, save for the man wearing black chinos, a leather jacket and cap who was standing by the side entrance, puffing away on his cigarette. Leroy unzipped his jacket and fiddled with his tie once more before walking right up to the man as he snuffed out the end of his tobacco and paper butt.

"I'm here to see your boss."

"Oh yeah?" the man replied incredulously, giving Leroy the once over. "That's nice. Now go home kid."

The young man leaned in a little closer. "Tell your boss I have a business proposition for him that he's going to want to hear; and if that's too many big words for you, I can write it down and you can hand him the message instead."

The man snarled at the insult and pulled back a fist. When Leroy didn't flinch, he thought better of it and slipped inside the side door. Five minutes later the man in black re-emerged, beckoning for the young man to follow him. Leroy blew on his hands once more to throw off the cold, then stepped into the dimly lit warehouse without hesitation.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**August 19, 2009. **The door swung shut with a bang behind him as he slid to the floor just inside the apartment clutching his camera to his chest like a lifeline. He closed his eyes and let his head roll back to rest against the pine paneling; at three-thirty in the afternoon, Jim didn't care how loud his neighbors thought he was, all he wanted to do was sit still and allow the worry to take over.

* * *

In the bedroom, Chloe jumped at the loud noise by the front door. Even though Jim wasn't due back from work for another two hours, she waited for him to identify himself; when no salutation was forthcoming, she carefully set aside her notes on the bed and quietly crept out of the bedroom and down the corridor. She poked her head around the corner, expecting a very noisy intruder only to find her boyfriend crumpled up on the floor with his eyes fixed dazedly on the opposite wall. Jimmy sat unmoving, knees drawn to his chest, sporting a cut above his left eye and a bruise near his jaw. His new, light orange shirt had a large tear in the sleeve and was tucked half–in, half-out of his khaki pants—she also noted how he cradled his camera as if it were his last salvation. Her boyfriend looked very child-like sitting there but after spending these last few months with him Chloe knew he was anything but. She was hesitant to approach Jim and startle him, afraid of how he might react if she drew too near, knowing how skittish he could be at times—if she were completely honest with herself, she'd say that the look on his face reminded her of Clark when he was recuperating in Smallville the year prior.

"Jim," she said slowly but firmly as she crouched near his feet. "What happened? Are you alright? Is anything broken?" Her gentle touch on his ankle caused his head to turn robotically and he took notice of her for the first time since his arrival.

"Chloe? What are you doing here?"

"Are you alright?" she asked again, ignoring his question.

"Uh…" he broke eye contact and looked down at his lap as if it held the answer to her question. "I think so."

"No broken bones?"

He shook his head. _Nothing feels broken, no…_

"Ok…" she replied in relief, letting loose the breath she'd been holding. As Chloe scooted over to sit beside him with her back against the door, she continued her questioning. "Care to tell me what's going on here then?"

Jim looked into her warm and loving face, so full of concern for him, and his mind automatically rewound the day's events. "I might not have a job at the _Planet_ anymore," he blurted distractedly, lost in recollection.

"WHAT?! WHY?!"

The shock and indignation in her cry snapped him back to the present and he met her verdant gaze as she stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Jim then realized that he would have to start back at the beginning of his day…

* * *

The trail in the Ladykiller case had been cold for quite some time when Perry decided to re-assign the young photographer to Ralph Cooper—he wanted them to cover the protests outside the World Trade Organization meeting taking place in Downtown Metropolis. Not only that, the Chief wanted them to get there early to stake out a spot so that they could get the "in-the-crowd and on-the-street reaction" to the proceedings.

Which was how Jimmy found himself standing with Ralph on the corner of Portland and Founder Streets at eight in the morning; he drained the last of his coffee and followed the reporter to the cordoned-off section near the Nugent building where the meeting was taking place. The area around the structure had been transformed from its normal, daily façade and Jim felt as though he were in another country altogether and not just on the other side of town. The last time he'd been by the Nugent was several weeks ago on his way to another assignment, and the plaza had been packed with office workers on their lunch break, basking in the sun of another gorgeous summer day.

Today's view however, was wholly different. An eight foot tall chain-link fence nearly two hundred feet in diameter encircled the building and a second barrier of similar height had been erected ten feet inside that the first. A quick glance down Battery Street revealed a chain-link pen to contain the rowdiest of the protesters before they were transported to lock-up at the police station. Metropolis' Finest littered the streets downtown like so many navy blue ants; some had already broken out the riot gear in anticipation of things to come.

"So… just another day at the office, eh Jim-bo?" Ralph asked, trying hard not to sound terrified at what lay before them, and failing miserably. Both men knew that protesters at past WTO events had a reputation for getting disorderly bordering on hostile, but they had a job to do; leaving it un-done meant suffering the Chief's wrath. Jim stopped fiddling with the camera around his neck when Ralph addressed him.

"Hmm? Far from it, I think."

The reporter pursed his lips and looked down at his companion disparagingly. "I was trying to make a joke there, geez! I know this is a far cry from the bullpen—haven't you ever heard of sarcasm before? And you claim to work with Lois Lane!!"

"Lane-Kent, her name is Lois Lane-Kent now; you would do well to remember it—if she catches you slipping up she'll make _darn __sure_ you do remember," Jim replied.

Ralph shook his head at the young photographer, unfazed by the barely veiled threat, and turned his attention to the quickly amassing crowds. He noticed that the people coming toward them looked pissed off and itching for a confrontation, while the group on the other side of the Nugent Complex appeared to be a tad calmer…"Jimmy, I think we should split up. You stay here and get those pictures for Perry; I'm going to go around to the other side and get the protesters' reaction for the story, ok?"

"Uh huh, sure, whatever you want, Ralph," Jim responded absently, his mind focused on polishing his telephoto lens for the umpteenth time. The slick-looking reporter slipped off without a hint of remorse for leaving his colleague behind just as things were about to get dicey.

Jim brought the camera to his eye and began scoping the area around the Nugent building with the viewfinder. Cars full of diplomats and world leaders were slowly wending their way through the security checkpoints to the front door, and he zoomed in on their disembarking dark-suited figures just as the rumble of shouts and taunts from behind him grew louder; it wasn't until the protesters were almost upon him that he turned the camera on their screaming forms.

Over the next hour, the last of the delegates made their way into the building and the crowd slowly swallowed up Jimmy as he captured shot after shot on film. Near the end of the hour, the hapless, young photographer was continually jostled about as he tried to set up his shots, so much so that he was on the verge of returning to the _Planet_ to develop his film. As he turned to leave, he was knocked off balance by a tall, skinny, unkempt man in his early-to-mid fifties with a cigarette butt dangling from his mouth.

"Hey, watch the camera!" Jim cried out protectively, instinctively wrapping his arms around the object by which he made his living.

The man's cheeks flamed red in anger and he shouted back, "Watch the camera?! WATCH THE CAMERA?! Do you have any fucking idea what those men are doing in there, and all _you're_ worried about is some fucking piece of plastic and glass that probably wasn't even _made_ in this country?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Jim could feel flecks of spittle land on his cheek as he turned away from the irate protester in desperate search of an exit. As luck would have it, he was smack dab in the middle of the unrelenting throng with nowhere to go.

"COME HERE you little bastard!! You want something to worry about?! I'll give you something to be worry about, since the debate going on inside doesn't seem to be enough for you, now come here!" The man lunged at Jimmy and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, wrenching the material in his hands and causing it to tear at the sleeve.

"Hey! Leave him alone—he's with the press!" a burly bystander cried out after catching sight of the pass that hung from Jimmy's shirt pocket. His defender grabbed the arm of the wiry man creating the problem.

The disheveled man's adrenaline was boiling and his teeth were clenched in unspeakable rage—all of that anger had nowhere to go but in Jim's direction. "I don't give a RAT'S ASS who he's with; if he's not here for the sake of his own principles and to defend the trade rights of our country then to hell with him!"

"Just calm down, friend."

"This is none of your business, _friend,_ so I suggest you BACK OFF!" The screaming man took a swing at Jimmy's rescuer who easily ducked out of the way, leaving Jim wide open. The blow caught on the side of his jaw and left him seeing stars.

That assault released the flood gates that morphed the milling mass of people into a rioting free-for-all. Police quickly descended upon the crowd as punches were thrown left and right; the tall man finally let go of Jimmy's shirt to chase after the stockier fellow who had interceded in the original argument. In spite of the man's smaller stature he was holding his own against the angrier, skinnier man who'd started the ruckus in the first place; Jim concluded that it didn't look like his rescuer needed to be rescued himself. With his camera huddled against him, Jim ducked his head in an unsuccessful bid to escape from the melee unscathed.

Without looking up, he felt a sharp elbow impact his forehead above his left eye, while other hands reached out and grabbed at his ripped shirt—whether they were police officers or not, he didn't bother to stop and check—with each narrow escape his heart beat a little faster in his ears. _Dear God, just let me get out of this fracas in one piece…_he silently prayed, gripping his camera tighter against his chest. After a half-hour of pushing against the crowd he found himself quite a ways down Portland Street but at least he was out of the thick of things—dazed and disoriented, but safe.

Jimmy beat a hasty retreat to the _Daily Planet_ building on foot, not trusting a cab to get him back in one piece given his rotten luck that morning. His whole body began to ache once he came down from his adrenaline high; he wearily pushed through the front doors, bypassing the elevator to the bullpen and his desk, instead striding directly toward the lower level dark room to immediately develop his film.

The young man spent three hours behind closed doors, mixing chemicals, sifting through photo paper and hanging finished images on a line; he took his time, wanting to present the Chief with the best possible photographs. When he was done, he placed the pictures in a manila folder and hastened up to the bullpen which was in the throes of its usual frenetic activity. Jimmy emerged from his elevator, brushing past Lois, Clark and their little ones without so much as a hello, his eyes firmly fixed on Perry White's closed office door.

The normally thoughtful photographer pushed open the Chief's door without knocking, despite the fact that the blinds were shut indicating that Perry wasn't alone. So caught up in the moment was Jim that he only just barely caught Clark's confused whispers behind him.

Inside, Ralph sat across from Perry with a smug and satisfied look on his face; he looked just as fresh as he had five hours earlier, not a hair was out of place on his head. To his colleagues in the bullpen Jim surmised that no one would have guessed Ralph had spent his morning interviewing irate protestors and rioters. The Chief didn't bother to look up as his errant photographer entered, instead reclining further back in his leather chair to peruse the article handed to him by the middle-aged reporter.

"Not bad, Cooper. Give it to Sherach for a quick polishing and send me the finished copy within the hour. I'll see if we can't squeeze it onto the front page." Ralph's smile grew even wider at the prospect of his first front page in article in several weeks; before leaving the room, he grasped the proffered pages with one hand while shaking his boss' hand with the other.

Once they were alone, Perry turned his attention to Jim and bellowed, "Well, what have you got for me? Why do you look as though you've just came out on the losing end of a bar room brawl? Don't tell me you've been drinking the morning away at the Ace when there's work to be done! I've already given you a warning about that, so don't think that I won't fire you if I hear you're back in the cups again…"

Jimmy clenched his teeth in an effort to prevent himself from saying anything rash, as he unceremoniously thrust the large folder of photos at his Editor-in-Chief. The older man thumbed through the images idly, pausing to linger over a small handful of photos while shaking his head disapprovingly at the rest. The Editor glanced quickly at his watch as though he were late for an appointment.

"These shots are passable, Olsen; I'm not thrilled with the selection you've given me for a front page story, but I suppose we'll have to make do. You have got to learn to set up your shots better if you want to get ahead here at the _Planet_; you don't want to be a junior photographer forever, do you?" Jim saw Perry look down at a piece of scrap paper on his desk, then rise up out of his chair, hand outstretched and pointing to the door. "Sorry I can't discuss this with you some more, but I have an important phone call to make. Oh, and Olsen? Bring me a cup of coffee, black, two sugars, _pronto_."

The young man had only taken a few steps out the door when he spun on his heels to take a good long look at his boss. Perry was halfway into his chair again when Jimmy's shrill voice rang out throughout the bullpen.

"**CHIEF!!**"

The man in question whipped around, eyes wide. Jim had only taken a tone like that once before, just before the _Daily Planet_ globe was about to come crashing down on his boss' head in the wake of the New Krypton quake of 2006.

"**WHAT?!**" the Chief replied just as sharply, once he looked around and saw the ceiling still firmly in place.

Jim's breathing quickened as he clenched his fist around the file of photos and held them aloft. "I spent _OVER AN HOUR_ setting up these shots! I risked _MY NECK_ to get you your 'in the crowd and on the street' reactions! I got pulled and punched by at least _TWO crazed protesters _and jabbed and elbowed by God knows how many more! I spent _THREE HOURS_ in the dark room developing these without so much as a bathroom break in order to meet deadline! And now you _**DARE**_ to tell _**ME**_ how to set up a shot?! _**YOU DARE**_ to tell me how to do _**MY**_ job?! For crissake, you're not even a photographer, what the _**HELL**_ do you know about setting up a shot?!"

He paused, panting, and feeling the flush of color rise all the way up to his ears as he unleashed years of pent-up resentment at his boss. Jim stood his ground—oblivious to the world around him and simply living in the moment. "_**DAMMIT, PERRY, I AM A DAMN GOOD PHOTOGRAPHER AND IT IS HIGH TIME THAT YOU RECOGNIZE THAT FACT**_!! And if you want coffee then I suggest you get _off your ass_ and get it yourself! Or better yet, call Ellen down in HR and _HIRE_ _YOURSELF A SECRETARY _to get it for you, because I REFUSE to be your whipping boy any longer!"

Jim whipped around on his heels, flinging the photos down on the desk closest to him before striding towards the elevator bay. He missed the echoing silence that pervaded the bullpen at his outburst as his words were still ringing in his ears…he also missed the sight of Clark's jaw dropping in shock over the fact that his friend finally stuck up for himself for the first time in all their years of friendship.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Warehouse #??, Metropolis Docks, **_**February 12, 1988. **The office was just as poorly lit as the rest of the facility, with cheap faux-pine wall paneling covering the space and the husky smell of too many smoked cigars lingering in the air. A layer below the tobacco haze sat a large man in a blue-gray suit, counting the bills stacked neatly in front of him on the desk before writing the number down on a piece of paper. The man in black led Leroy to a stiff-backed seat in the middle of the room and motioned for him to sit. Once that was done the man walked away, closing the door behind him, and leaving Leroy alone with the boss.

Mr. Oswego puffed away on his cigar, seemingly oblivious to the newcomer's presence as he counted his money. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at the young man, noting how calmly he sat there, waiting to be addressed…_It would appear that he is not as intimidated by me as he should be…interesting, very interesting…_He let him sit by himself in silence a moment longer before sweeping the money aside and steepling his hands before him on the desk.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

"And you know what I do?"

"Yes."

"And you are…?"

"Leroy Russell, Sir, but most people who know me tend to call me Uncle."

The young man responded to each of his questions in such a straightforward manner that for once Mr. Oswego's intrigue overruled his common sense. He didn't bother to come around the desk to see if the young man was wearing a wire, nor did he dismiss him as readily as other boys who came crawling to his doorstep. Mr. Oswego was impressed by the man called Uncle's bearing and felt compelled to hear him out.

"Sean informed me that you had a business proposition to discuss."

"Yes Sir, I do; it's about your employees on the corner of Fleet and McKay Streets."

Mr. Oswego cocked an eyebrow at the term 'employees'; he never considered the young drug runners in his employ as anything more then local hoodlums with too little common sense to stay in school and out of trouble.

"What about my 'employees'?"

Leroy rose half-up out of his seat and inched the chair forward so that he was closer to the desk, then he drew a piece of paper from his pants pocket. With a clarity that not many twenty year olds possess, Leroy illustrated for Mr. Oswego the not-so-random pattern of the MPD raids, as well as informed him of simple precautions his men on the street could take so as to conduct business while avoiding further detection.

"…and if your men take the time to make sure this gate is opened in the afternoon, then they'd be able to escape down the alleyway between McLaren's bar and the Wee-Sun Laundromat here," Leroy finished, twenty minutes later and pointing emphatically at the sheet in his hands.

Taking the paper for a closer look, Mr. Oswego examined it thoroughly. "You mean to tell me that you came up with this all by yourself?"

"Yes Sir," he replied, nodding.

The older man sat back in his chair, the paper still firmly in his grasp. "What's stopping me from taking this and killing you right now? You know who I am, where I work, you have more than enough to go to the cops with…"

"But you won't kill me," Leroy interjected.

"How can you be so sure about that?"

"Because you recognize what an asset I could be to your organization, not just with regards to the Fleet and McKay street set-up…and don't think you can play me for a fool; we both know that your influence extends throughout the whole community and not one corner block. You also see me sitting here dressed for business, a sure sign that I'm a professional looking to conduct business with you, a fellow professional. And if what I've brought you here today _has_ interested you, then I can assure you that my terms will not be unreasonable when you take me on in your company."

Leroy watched the man's face as his thoughts and emotions played out across his features like so many dancers on a chorus line. Not that he ever doubted himself, but he now knew for certain that his life was safe. It was a few minutes more before Mr. Oswego spoke again.

"Ok then, let's do business together," he said, stretching his hand across the table. Leroy got up to shake it. "Now let me hear those terms of yours…"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**August 19, 2009. **"After that, I just grabbed my camera, left the building and walked around the city awhile before coming home," Jim concluded, gazing intensely into Chloe's fathomless green eyes as he spoke.

She stared back, completely dumbfounded; it was some time before she found her voice. "You actually said all that to him? To Perry White, I mean?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "_Yeees_…why would I tell you I did if I hadn't? I really did say all those things to him, Chloe, word for word." Jim waited for some sort of reaction; when none was forthcoming, worry settled into the pit of his stomach and his anxiety ratcheted up a notch. "Oh God, you think I shouldn't have done that, don't you? You think I was out of line going off on my boss like that—that I shouldn't have chosen _that moment_ to go crazy?" He dropped his head onto his arms. His voice was muffled as he continued, "I'm not going to have a job tomorrow..."

"On the contrary, I almost said something to him about how he was treating you at the Fourth of July party. I'm just surprised at _how_ you said it, as well as the fact that it took you _this_ long to say it, that's all."

As if the rest of the events of that day hadn't already shocked and confused him enough, her declaration left him feeling as though he could have been bowled over by a feather. "WH-WHAT?!"

She put a hand over his reassuringly. "Jim, I'm pretty sure Lois and Clark would agree with me, but it sounds as though this blow-up has been _years_ in the making."

"Really?" he squeaked. She nodded her head vigorously. "Ok…" He paused to let the thought take root in his mind before. "But that still doesn't mean I'm going to have a job there tomorrow."

"You're right, it doesn't—but even if you don't, it'll be ok. You can do some more freelance work, maybe pick up a couple of extra weddings or Bar Mitzvahs here and there, until you figure out what it is _you_ want to do next. We'll get through this together, you'll see."

Jim just stared at her, all other thoughts abandoning his mind as he focused solely on her words and the reassurance in her voice. _She said __**we'll**__ get through this together…God, thank you for Chloe, I don't know where I'd be without her right now. _They sat by the front door, hand in hand, for a while longer, each mulling over the situation that had transpired at the _Planet_ that afternoon. The clock in the kitchen had four o'clock before Jim realized that both he and Chloe had returned home from work much earlier than usual.

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and squeezing her hand supportively, he asked, "You didn't quit your job today too, did you? Purposely or otherwise?"

She visibly started at the question. "What?! Why would you think that?!"

Jim just shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you were here before me, and I got out of work early because of—_you know_—and I wasn't sure if that was the reason for your early day too."

Chloe laughed at that, causing him to smile and easing some of his fears. "No, Sweetie, _I_ didn't get _fired_ today, 'purposely or otherwise'. I finished my last assignment early and they want me to do a follow-up to the Nonte article; apparently my premier piece generated a lot of interest in her revitalization efforts for the Slums. Now the big-wigs upstairs want me to delve deeper into her motivation behind the project, so they sent me home to rest-up before starting tomorrow."

"That sounds great, congratulations! Only there four months and already turning heads…truth be told though, you constantly turn my head each and every day…" he said, grinning and sounding more like his old self.

"Jimmy!" she cried out, blushing profusely at the compliment. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before standing up, holding out both hands to help him to his feet. "Tell you what—why don't you take a nice, long, hot shower, and we can order an early dinner in—that is, only if you're as hungry as I am; I skipped lunch. What are you in the mood for?"

He grasped her hands and stood up, leaning in to kiss her full on the lips. "The early bird special sounds perfect. I'm feeling a little adventurous tonight, so how about we go for some Indian?"

"As if you didn't already have enough spice in you," she quipped. Leaning in to kiss him again, she added. "Indian sounds great. Now scoot, I have food to order." She nudged him gently down the hall and flashed him her mega-watt smile.

He stopped before entering the bathroom and turned to her one last time. "I don't know where I'd be without you, Chloe. I love you."

Her smile brightened further and her eyes sparkled at his words. Playing with the cordless phone in her hands, she replied, "I love you too, Jim."

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**August 20, 2009. **Jimmy walked into the building, fidgeting with his bowtie as he made his way to the elevators. The dark circles under his eyes belied how little sleep he'd gotten the previous evening, tossing and turning all night long, imagining every conceivable way Perry White could fire him after yesterday's fiasco. He'd only arrived five minutes late, but as the doors opened up he noticed that the bullpen was already abuzz with activity. The young man ran his fingers through his hair nervously one more time before squaring his shoulders and marching straight to his desk as if it were just another day at the office.

The computer took a moment to boot up, so he took the opportunity to glance around the room, catching sight of Lois and Clark sitting at their respective desks checking voicemail and e-mail, while Gil sat on the other side of the room sifting through his notes. Ralph's desk wasn't far from Jim's own and his eyes traveled over there next; the reporter caught him staring and gave a derisive mock-salute with that smug little smile playing on his lips. The pompous reporter's grinning made Jim's blood boil and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to rush over there and knock the smile off his face.

* * *

Clark poked his head up and looked over at Jimmy as he heard his heart rate spike alarmingly high. He followed his friend's gaze over to Ralph, not fully knowing what had transpired between them the day before that set Jimmy off on Perry, then turned his attention back to the young photographer. A young woman in a light brown pant suit strode over to Jim, wordlessly thrusting a piece of folded pink note paper into his hands before returning to her own desk. He opened the note, read it, and then carefully tucked it into his pant's pocket before getting up and crossing the bullpen to the Chief's office. Clark rolled his desk chair across the aisle and nudged Lois to get her attention; it seemed that all eyes were on James P. Olsen as he walked up to the Editor-in-Chief's door as if being led to the noose, then he knocked and entered.

* * *

The young man settled into the seat opposite his boss, resolute in his conviction that he would neither resort to begging for his job back, nor would he back down until he received better treatment, should he be allowed to remain on staff. Perry stared hard at him for a few moments, regarding the young man as if looking at him for the first time, before he broke the silence. "I didn't appreciate the 'ass' comment yesterday, Olsen, but everything else you said was pretty much spot on; I took another look at your photos of yesterday's melee and you didn't do as bad a job as I first thought."

The half-remorseful apology combined with a back-handed compliment from the Chief caught Jim off guard. "I didn't?" he squeaked out, his mouth having gone suddenly dry. He cleared his throat and responded again in a deeper tone, "I mean, you're right, I didn't."

"Ok, kid, don't get _too_ cocky now. I brought you in here to discuss three things before the staff meeting this morning. One, I'm not going to fire you; I _should_ fire you for pulling that stunt yesterday in the middle of the bullpen, but I realize that I did have it coming to me after all these years, so rest easy knowing that. Two, I took your advice, called HR and got myself a personal assistant. Her name is Barbara and she's the one who handed you the note earlier, so consider yourself permanently off my coffee detail."

The photographer couldn't help the boyish grin that spread across his face at the news that, while he was still under Perry's thumb, he was no longer at his beck and call. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks. "And the third thing, Chief?"

"Three, I wanted to warn you about the slight increase you should be seeing in your next paycheck. I'm giving you a raise."

Jim's jaw fell open in shock. "A raise? Y-you're giving me a raise?"

An annoyed look crossed Perry's face. "What, did you suddenly go deaf overnight? Yes, a raise—a five percent raise, ok? You were long overdue for one anyway, and I'm giving it to you now simply because you finally grew a pair. Now, get out of here before everyone thinks you got canned." Jim got up and shook the proffered hand before hightailing it to the door—he didn't want to lose what ground he'd finally gained with his boss. He was about to turn the handle when Perry spoke up again. "Oh, and Olsen? Keep up the good work."

"Thanks Chief! I will, Chief!"

"Ok, ok, I get the point, now STOP CALLING ME CHIEF!!" Perry bellowed just as the door opened out to the rest of the bullpen. He was right, the gossips were already spreading rumors about the horrible ways he was being fired, but one look at Jim's beaming face and only the densest of people could see how far from the truth that really was. Lois and Clark looked relieved.

* * *

"Why James, I don't believe it! I thought I taught you better then to raise your voice to your elders like that!" Cheryl cried into the phone in horror. Jill walked into the room at that moment and watched her mother's face go ashen, causing her to wonder what exactly her brother did. She curled up on the sofa opposite nearby to listen in on the conversation.

"No, you're not listening to me, my boss agreed with the things I said to him! Not only that, but he gave me a raise too!"

Cheryl pursed her lips as she stood pacing before the fireplace on the other end of the line. "You mean to tell me that you lose your temper—blow up on your _boss_ of all people—and that was the result?"

"Yep. I'm sure it has something to do with his respecting me now for finally 'growing a pair'."

"James, language! Honestly, I don't know where you picked up that kind of talk! Thank goodness not all your brothers and sisters speak like that or what would people think of me as a mother?!"

"Those weren't my words, Mom, they were his, and I've got to go. Love you."

"Love you too, although I'm tempted to wash your mouth out with soap after this phone call…" but she discovered that her son had already hung up before she finished her tirade. "Hmph!" she snorted, before turning to leave the room.

"What's the matter, what happened to Jimmy?" Jill inquired, eager for the juicy details.

"What?" Cheryl asked, turning to face her youngest daughter whom she hadn't realized had entered the room during the conversation. "Oh, nothing that concerns you or bears repeating," she replied, before muttering to herself, "I don't know where he got that mouth of his from…" Jill whipped out her pink cell phone from her short's pocket as soon as her mother was out of the room and sent a mass text message to her siblings full of supposition about Jim's exploits.

* * *

Jim punched the end button on the phone to cut his mother off and strode forward to open the door. He watched as Chloe scanned his face, trying to determine whether he was still employed at the _Planet_ or not, while he schooled his features into a neutral mask. He took the sack of groceries from her very solemnly and put it down on a nearby table.

"I'm sorry…" he started to say before she stopped him with her fingers on his lips.

"Jim, you have absolutely NOTHING to be sorry about; the _Planet _obviously doesn't recognize great talent when they see it. We'll be ok until you find another job, we've got some money saved up, so you have nothing to wor—" This time _he_ cut _her _off.

"Chloe, I was only saying I'm sorry that you didn't get my message about skipping the grocery store, because tonight we're going to celebrate at the Biltmore!"

She stared up into his jubilant face incredulously. "Celebrate? Celebrate?! So you didn't get fired then, Perry didn't…?"

"Perry liked my pictures after all, and he gave me a raise for, and I quote, 'finally growing a pair'!" he repeated once more, grinning like a fool.

"Well that's something I could have told your entire bullpen months ago," she replied happily as she leaned seductively into his embrace.

Jim wrapped his arms around her waist and feasted upon her mouth; just as eagerly, if not more so, she responded to his touch, hungrily kissing him back. Not even a minute later, his cell phone began vibrating in his pocket, breaking up the tender moment. "Why Mr. Olsen, is that your phone, or are you just happy to see me?" Chloe teased coyly as he fumbled to answer the device.

"Hold that thought just one moment…Hey Josh, what's going on? Is it important? Because otherwise…" Jim let his thought trail off as Chloe slowly walked away from him, hips swaying provocatively as she moved into the kitchen, then down the hall. He followed a few feet behind her, mesmerized like the Pied Piper's children, the phone still clutched to his ear.

"Yeah man, it is important! Jill just sent a message saying that you had called Mom and were in some kind of trouble, so what the heck is going on?" His brother's indignant and worried voice grew louder as he talked.

"Huh, what? Jill texted you?" _I haven't talked to her recently, why would she be texting…oh crap, she must've overheard my conversation with Mom. Geez_. Chloe glanced over her shoulder just then and watched as her boyfriend's gaze roved over her body, distracting him from his current conversation. She flashed a wicked grin and, still moving forward, slipped out of one high heel, then the other, before her hands went to the buttons on her blouse…

"Yes, Jill…our sister, remember? Dude, if you don't start telling us what's going on we're getting in my car and coming to Metropolis to find out for ourselves; us Olsens stick together, remember!?" This statement managed to shake Jim's attention away from his girlfriend's impromptu striptease.

"What? NO! Don't come to Metropolis! I, uh, everything's fine! I h-had a little trouble with the boss yesterday b-but it's all good now! I even got a raise!" Jim spluttered, his eyes glued to Chloe's backside as the cream colored, silk blouse slid from her slender shoulders to be casually flung to the floor.

"A raise? That's great, Bro! Am I going to get all the dirty details now? Because Jill said something about Mom wanting to wash your mouth out with soap, which means something _really _heavy went down…"

Jim's eyes nearly bugged from his head as Chloe reached her hands behind her and began sensuously unzipping her black pencil skirt while she entered the bedroom and turned out of sight.

"Uh…another time, Josh, I really gotta go…"

Without warning, her stockings hit Jim full in the face as she called out from the bedroom, "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Photographer!"

Jim heard his brother balk in embarrassment on the other end of the line as he caught Chloe's words. "Oh, um, yeah, go ahead…I'll talk to you later."

"Thanks." Jim didn't waste another minute on the phone, making sure it was completely turned off before taking off in a near sprint for the bedroom, his bowtie and dress shirt joining hers on the floor.

Their reservation at the Biltmore Restaurant that evening went unseated.


	21. Chapter 21

_**East Side Slums, **_**April 19, 1988. **"Leroy, you can't seriously be doing this!" Rose cried, watching her son as he calmly packed the suitcase that lay open on the sofa. He'd breezed right through the kitchen without so much as a glance at the birthday cake she'd baked for him. "I knew you were working for _that man_ but I thought you'd come to your senses soon and get away, maybe go back to Luciano's…and now you're _traveling_ for him? You're throwing your life away!"

He whipped around then, a clean shirt clenched tightly in one fist as he pointed at his head with the other. "No Mom, I'm not! I'm using my God-given brains to get us out of this hell hole, once and for all!"

"How? By helping _THAT MAN_ sell dope on the street corners?! By making sure that _HE_ doesn't get caught!? Do you even listen to yourself?!" Her son only ignored her impassioned pleas and resumed his methodical packing. She stood beside him, arms folded across her chest. Staring down at the floor, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, she played her trump card. "Your father would've been so disappointed in you…"

Invoking Aaron's memory only served to send Leroy into a blind rage. "Dad would've been disappointed? _DAD_ WOULD'VE BEEN _DISAPPOINTED_?!" Well _forgive me_ if I don't hear him doing much complaining these days, SEEING AS HOW HE'S DEAD!!" Rose took an involuntary step backward as her son's anger morphed into cold indifference as he hissed, "That man worked an honest job _every single damn day_ of his sad existence and look where it got him! It didn't get him out of the Slums—he was barely able to support his family—and it finally got him a six foot hole in the ground in the middle of the pauper's section of the cemetery!!"

Rose's grief quickly turned to anger and she reached a hand out to smack her son hard across the face. The force behind the blow was bone-rattling, but the young man barely flinched as he continued to stare at her, his dark eyes glittering unfeelingly. She broke their gaze and stalked back into the kitchen, weeping violently as she plunked herself down in a chair beside the cake she'd made in honor of her son's twenty-first birthday. Leroy came up behind her not five minutes later and gently grasped her shoulder.

"Good-bye, Mom. I'll get my own apartment when I get back, but I'll send you as much money as I can. Maybe soon you'll have enough to get out of this godforsaken place and get a nice home all your own, you know, like you always dreamed…" The fact that this had been a shared dream between his mother and his father went unsaid. Rose sat there, still sobbing, refusing to answer or even acknowledge her only boy. Leroy leaned over and kissed the top of her head tenderly, whispering into her hair, "I love you, Mom. Good-bye."

He walked out the door, his bag in his hands, never once stopping or looking back.

After he was gone, Rose stared at the closed door to her apartment, bawling outright. "If you loved me like you say you do then you wouldn't be breaking my heart…"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**August 28, 2009.** "Hey Honey?" Chloe called out to Jim as she set the table that Friday night for dinner.

He looked up from his task in the kitchen; he was standing at the counter, tossing a salad. "Hmm?"

"I was wondering...do you have any particular plans for next weekend?" She stopped, fiddling with the silverware in her hands as she waited for his response.

"I was planning on spending next weekend with you, Beautiful. Why do you ask?"

* * *

Jim studied his girlfriend's face as she blew an errant wisp of hair out of her eyes, anxiously worrying her lower lip; he knew her well enough by now to notice when she was extremely apprehensive about something. "I was wondering if you might like to come with me somewhere…but I don't want you to feel like you _have _to come or anything. I just thought I'd ask in case you wanted to join us…it's really no big deal if you say no; either way, I just wanted to put it out there…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down! You haven't even told me where you wanted me to go yet! Where is somewhere? And who's us? Is it just you and me, or you, me and someone else?" Worriedly, he abandoned the salad and stepped around the counter to stand before her.

* * *

Chloe took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, steadying herself. "Somewhere is Oklahoma, and 'us' is you, me and my Dad."

He reached out and rubbed his hands up and down the sides of her bare arms reassuringly. "Ok now, see? That was easy! What was so hard about that?! Of course I'd like to meet your dad! One thing though—I thought he still lived out near Smallville?"

"He does. It's my Mom who's in Oklahoma. It's their wedding anniversary next weekend and he's asked me to join him, and now I'm asking you."

He stopped rubbing. "So you're asking me to meet _both_ your parents?"

"Like I said before, please don't feel like you have to say yes…"

"Will you stop that? I _want_ to go with you; I was just thinking about what a really big step this was for you—inviting me to meet not only your father, but your mother too. Of course I'll go to Oklahoma with you."

"Really?" She squeaked.

Jim pulled her in closer so her cheek rested on his chest. "Really."

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, September 4, 2009, 3:06 pm. **Jim stood up and caught Lois' arm as she strode back into the bullpen after an off-site meeting. "Hey Lois, is CK alright? He looks a little out of it today, like he's itching to get out of his own skin or something."

She glanced over at her husband's cubicle to catch him running both hands through his hair exasperatedly, nostrils flaring as he grew overly agitated with whatever was on the piece of paper before him.

"He'll be fine, Jim, but I'll keep an extra eye on him just to be safe. Don't worry," she reassured him before quietly making her way to her husband's side.

He sat back down in his chair but kept his gaze trained on both of his friends, watching Lois as she half-sat on Clark's desk. She ran her hand up and down his bicep soothingly, saying things he couldn't hear, then leaned in so that their foreheads touched. Jim watched a tight smile cross Clark's face at her encouragement; a minute later and the tall reporter nodded in agreement with whatever his wife had said, before holding out his hand asking for five more minutes. Clark wore an obvious mask of false cheer on his face as he tried to shoo her away, and she bopped him on the head playfully with the pad of paper in her hand, laughing as she slid off his work space before meandering back to her own desk.

The phone rang sharply then, breaking Jim's concentration and he hastened to pick it up. "_Daily Planet_, James Olsen speaking."

"Jim, it's Chloe. I was just calling to make sure that you remembered to bring your luggage with you to work."

He smiled into the phone as he accidentally kicked the small rolling suitcase under his desk. "Yes, Dear, I did."

"And you have your boarding pass, right?"

"Yes, Dear, I do."

"You didn't forget that we're arriving at the airport separately and meeting at the gate, right? I can't get out of work early…"

"Chloe, relax! We're just going to Oklahoma to see your parents; it's not like we're facing the inquisitorial squad! Besides, I'm the one who should be nervous here, being the outsider and all," Jim blurted into the phone.

Chloe sighed. "I know, I know, you're right; I'll calm down once I see you at the airport and we get through security in one piece, ok? Shoot, I have to go, Artie's headed this way looking for an update…I'll see you in an hour and a half, bye!"

"See you." Jim just shook his head as he replaced the receiver on his desk.

* * *

Jim missed Clark cocking his head at an awkward angle as he spoke. _Oklahoma? Parents? I knew Chloe's parents were divorced but I always assumed her mother had died, she never seemed to want to talk about her. Besides, I thought Ian still lived in Kansas? _Clark mused silently when he inadvertently caught that portion of their private conversation. An obvious cough punctuated by a pointed look from Lois reminded him that it was time to get going and he started collecting his things and shove them into his briefcase.

* * *

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_**, September 5, 2009, 2:23 am. **The young couple walked hand in hand through the airport, dragging their rolling luggage behind them, barely able to keep their eyes open after the seven and a half hour flight. "Please tell me we're not meeting your mother bright and early this morning," Jim said, lifting her hand up and brushing a kiss endearingly across her knuckles.

"No, we're going," she replied, pausing to let out a yawn, "we're going after lunch tomorrow. The nurses tell us that's when she's usually at her calmest."

"Oh." They trudged on toward the pick-up area in silence.

"There he is." She gave her boyfriend's hand a quick squeeze before letting go to wave at her father. Ian Sullivan was a tall, lanky man, balding but with thatches of salt and pepper hair still thick at his temples and a large pair of glasses on his face. He waved back when he caught sight of her, and she rushed forward into his embrace.

The middle-aged man tucked his daughter's head under his chin and held her close. "My little Bug," he murmured softly, "you don't know how much I've missed you since you moved away."

"I know, Dad; I know because I've missed you too." They remained like that for several minutes, basking in their reunion and completely oblivious to the presence of the few other passengers remaining in the airport until Jim let out a subtle cough. Chloe started at the reminder of her guest and hastened to make introductions. "Oh right! Dad, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, James Olsen; Jim, this is my father, Ian."

Jim stuck out a hand. "It's nice to finally meet the man who raised such a wonderful daughter, Sir."

The older man chuckled as he grasped the nervous photographer's hand. "I see my Chloe was right in her descriptions of you too, young man—and please, call me Ian."

Jim colored at the implication that he had obviously been a topic of conversation between father and daughter. "Thank you, Ian."

"So, let's get you kids into the rental car and back to the hotel. It's well after two in the morning—I'm sure you're both exhausted. We can get to more of the small talk at lunch, say around 11?"

"11 sounds great," Chloe answered happily as she walked arm in arm with her father, leaving Jim to walk by himself alongside them. The small group made their way out of the automatic doors and into the parking lot toward a new, blue Toyota Echo parked near the entrance.

After depositing their luggage in the trunk, Chloe settled herself in the front seat with a sleepy sigh while Ian navigated them back to the hotel where they had a standing reservation. "So, Sir, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help but overhear you back in the airport when you called Chloe 'Bug'. Mind if I ask what that's all about?"

The older man chuckled while a deep, crimson blush colored the young woman's cheeks. "Not at all, Jim, it's a perfectly innocent question. You see, with Chloe being our first and only baby, my wife and I were just in total awe of her…neither of us ever wanted to put her down, let alone leave her in the crib even when it was at the foot of our bed. Those first few weeks after she was born, we used to tuck her into the blankets in the middle of the bed and I once made the comment that our baby girl looked like a little bug."

"Dad!" Chloe protested suddenly from her seat.

"What? It's true, you did look like a little bug, all swaddled and squirming," Ian glanced at his passenger in the back seat and grinned. "And Angela agreed, only she called her our 'Cuddle Bug' since we used to just want to cuddle up next to her all the time. We shortened it to 'Bug' once Chloe got older though."

Jim decided to tease his girlfriend just a little bit more. "Aww, Cuddle Bug, how come you never told me that story?" he asked in the overdone baby voice he used with Hayley, leaning forward to rub her shoulders gently.

"See now, this just isn't fair! I spent three whole days with your family and didn't get one single, embarrassing story; not even ten minutes with my family and already you want to start calling me Cuddle Bug. Jim, if you know what's good for you, you'll quit now while you're ahead or I'll make you sleep in the bath tub tonight…"

Jim bit back the smart aleck retort about not having any embarrassing family stories to tell her, letting go of her shoulders as he sat back in his seat. "The bath tub? How can you make me sleep in the bath tub if I'm in my own room?"

"Your own room? What made you think we were getting separate rooms…?" Chloe asked, turning around to look at him properly and better read his facial expression. His eyes darted to the back of Ian's head and Chloe scowled at the implication.

"Listen, Kids, forgive the interruption, but if I may throw my two cents into the conversation here…"

"No, Sir, it's ok; I didn't realize that Chloe made only one room reservation; I'm sure I'll be able to get my own room once we get to the hotel, it won't be a problem."

Ian chimed in again. "Wow, your mother really put you two through the wringer, didn't she?"

Jim did a double-take at the older man's frankness. "Excuse me?"

"Chloe told me about the rooming situation when you went to your sister's wedding, and I was just trying to tell you that it's ok with me that you're sharing a room. I'm not naïve, it _is_ the twenty-first century and you're both adults; also, if my memory serves me correctly, you _are_ sharing a one-bedroom apartment in Metropolis…it's not as if one of you is sleeping on the couch there."

"I…I…I…" the young man floundered.

"_Da-ad_, I thought I told you not to be so forthright with new people! Or do you _NOT_ remember what happened when we moved to Smallville and you introduced yourself to our new landlady?" She gave her father a pointed look.

Ian turned his head and looked down his nose over his glasses at his only child. "Sweetie, Mrs. Wall was old and thought it was still 1943; the word 'divorce' just wasn't in her vocabulary and I was merely trying to inform her as to our particular situation, that's all—I wasn't trying to be _forward_, as you put it. Oh look, we're here! Let's get you two to your room for some rest."

Ian parked near the front door and he and Jim went to retrieve the luggage from the trunk. "Bug, why don't you go on ahead and get checked in? We'll meet you in the lobby," her father said with a smile, sending Chloe off while he and Jim had a quick chat.

Once his girlfriend was out of earshot, Jim decided to speak up. "Sir, honestly, if you're not comfortable with me and Chloe sharing a room, I can get another, it wouldn't be a problem…"

Ian clasped a slender hand firmly on Jim's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Son, I know I haven't known you very long, but I've known my daughter her whole life and she's not one to throw her lot in with just anybody on a whim. Chloe cares about you and I know that because, not only has she decided to _live_ with you, but I can hear her light up whenever she talks about you. My daughter is very special to me—she's the only living proof I have of the love Angie and I shared—and if I even had the smallest of doubts, I'd have spoken up long before now." He turned toward the lobby and continued on his way while Jim remained rooted to the spot next to the car.

"I love her, Sir; I love your daughter very much." That simple declaration stopped the older man in his tracks and Chloe's father turned to look at Jim once more.

* * *

The smile dropped momentarily from Ian Sullivan's face when he realized that Chloe had found her soul mate in one James P. Olsen from Metropolis and that she'd never be just _his_ little girl ever again. He was happy his daughter had found her true love, even if she wasn't fully aware of it herself just yet, and he only hoped that their lives together would be filled with many more years of happiness than he had had with his bride.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I just blurted it out like that, I don't know what I was thinking, I probably wasn't thinking…I've never been good at this meet-the-parents stuff and I think I'm just …"

Ian doubled back and laid a kind hand on Jim's shoulder, urging him forward, all the while ignoring the young man's nervousness. "It's ok, Jim, it's ok…we'll talk about it later on in the morning."

"I've got the key!" Chloe called out cheerfully when they entered the lobby with the luggage. She watched as the two most important men in her life exchanged an odd glance at one another before turning their attention to her.

"Well, I'll let you kids get settled in. Meet me in the dining room in…" he consulted his wristwatch, "eight and a half hours for an early lunch?"

Chloe stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her father's waist and kissed him on the cheek before taking her suitcase from him. "Sure Dad, we'll see you then. Good night!"

"Good night, Mr. Sullivan," Jim added, extending his hand to the man again.

"Remember, it's Ian, Son. And good night."

He watched wistfully as his daughter walked away from him; Jim clasped her slender hand in his own without even glancing down, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and they made their way over to the elevator together; the older man's eyes misted over ever so slightly at the scene. "Good night, Cuddle Bug." He walked off in the direction of his own room for some much deserved rest as well.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 5, 2009. **"Clark, Sweetheart, what are you doing?" Lois' voice called out cheerfully from their bedroom.

He sat hunched over his laptop at the dining room table, fingers flying over the keys as his eyes scanned web page after web page full of data that popped up at his command. "I'm just doing some research!" he shouted back.

She made her way down the hall towards her husband. "Research for what? I thought you were all finished with your work at the _Planet_ for the weekend, besides, we need to get ready; we're meeting my folks for lunch on Base, remember?"

"I remember, and we still have forty-five minutes before we have to be there, not to mention that I can get us there in five if need be," he said, never once looking up from his work in spite of Lois' entrance. "Besides, this isn't _Planet_ work."

"Oh, it isn't? Then what's it for?"

Clark winced and squirmed in his seat before he forced himself to meet her gaze. "It's…personal."

"Personal? We're married, nothing's 'personal' anymore…" They both turned their heads as they heard Haley crying from her playpen in the other room.

_Saved by the baby yet again…_"I'll get her!" he cried out, slamming his laptop shut and speeding out of the room before his wife even had time to turn around. She followed at a more sedate pace, eying him as he stood holding their daughter close to his chest and cooing to her soothingly while Jason sat nearby, focused on piecing together a puzzle.

"Fine, we don't have to talk about it now; but don't think for one minute that I won't find out sooner or later what you're up to, Mister. You may be Superman, but I have my ways of getting information out of you…" She turned abruptly on her heel to make her way back down the hall and he watched her sashay out of the room.

He held Haley before him and stared straight into her eyes. "Your Mommy is one determined lady, you know that, Cookie? She's also Trouble with a capital 'T'. That's right, I said it, Trouble with a capital 'T'…"

"Hey, I _heard_ that!"


	22. Chapter 22

_**Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, **_**January 7, 1993**_**. **_"Hey you, how'd you end up here?" the beefy, white man asked his companion as they descended down the steps of the tan–colored Cessna.

The young man stood on the tarmac, surveying the area, not bothering to turn around to address the person speaking to him. He smoothed the wrinkles of his khaki-colored, short sleeve, button down shirt, and his eyes squinted beneath his sunglasses at the brilliance of the African sun at midday. Ever since he'd begun collaborating with Mr. Oswego four years ago, he'd traveled to places he'd never even dreamed of, and learned so much along the way. His boss implicitly trusted him, and only him, to handle these overseas deals with new suppliers, and a spike in demand for heroin was what brought him to Africa today. However, he wasn't about to divulge such details with the dim-witted, hired muscle standing behind him, noisily chomping on his gum. "I didn't end up _anywhere_," he informed the burly man while flicking a non-existent speck from his shoulder, "I _brought myself_ here." Two men came rushing out of the shack at the other end of the airstrip to greet them and Leroy walked away.

Still chewing his gum, the larger man walked over to his skinnier counterpart at the tail section of the plane and began to sort through the luggage. "Hey Jake, what's that guy's problem?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder before grabbing the nearest suitcase and shoving it under his arm.

Jacob looked over at his dense friend incredulously. "Ben, what the hell have you been _doing_ over the last forty hours? Do you have any _idea_ who he is? Any at all?"

Benny glanced over his shoulder and down the tarmac, staring as their khaki-clad traveling companion shook hands; the young man looked very stern and formidable with his sunglasses on and jaw set as they stood around chatting. Turning back to his friend, he said, "Nope, not a clue. Who is he?"

"He's Mr. Oswego's right hand man!" Jacob hissed. "He's quiet but dangerous, and you'd do best to stay out of his way. Now come on, we can't afford to lag behind."

Jacob grabbed one more bag in his right hand before quickly making his way toward the second of two Jeeps that their African delegates had brought for them; the first was already occupied by the other member of their party and their guides. Benny waddled up behind the skinnier man, tossing his bags in the backseat before climbing into the passenger side just as his friend was about to turn the key in the ignition.

"Ok, so you told me _who_ he is, but what's his name?"

Jacob stole a glance at his friend, sizing him up before their caravan started to move; he quickly decided that Benny wasn't acting—he was genuinely asking all of these questions out of sheer ignorance. _He really is going to get himself killed, running his mouth off all the time like this. If he knows what's good for him he'll shut up every now and again and actually pay attention._ "You'd do best to call him Uncle, Man—just call him Uncle; that's all you need to know."

That seemed to satisfy Benny, who nodded and sat back in his seat, propping one foot up on the dash board. Addis Ababa blurred around them in the heat as they carried on with their business.

* * *

_**Sand Springs, Oklahoma, **_**September 5, 2009, 1:03 pm. **Ian, Chloe and Jim drove down the highway through the Oklahoma Plains in companionable silence. They'd left the hotel a half hour earlier, after having enjoyed an early lunch in the dining room together, and were now making their way to visit Angela Sullivan at Belle Reeve Mental Health Center, the place she'd called home for the last twenty-eight years.

Jim broke his gaze away from the never-changing landscape slipping past his window and quickly noticed a medium-sized, brown album wedged between the front seats. "Hey, what's this?" he asked, reaching for the object in question.

"Oh, that's just a photo album I like to show to Angie when I visit her—try to jog her memory a bit and all. It helps, most times…" His voice trailed off and Chloe patted his knee reassuringly. Her father glanced over at her and gave her a small smile filled with gratitude before turning his attention back to the road.

Placing it carefully in his lap, Jim flipped the album open and began intently studying the image on the front page. The picture had been taken in a landscape style and laminated to a vertical page, so he turned the book on its side to better study the subjects at it's center. The photo included the entire Sullivan wedding party and looked like it had been taken back in the early 1970's. Even though its edges were starting to peel up and it had taken on a yellowish hue associated with age, the picture was as crisp and clear as the day it had been taken. Ian and Angela stood in the center, holding hands and smiling, while everyone around them wore equally happy grins. Jim let his fingers carefully graze the faces of the family members and friends, old and young, and he couldn't help the sharp pang of sadness he felt at the contrast between the past and the present.

_What if they knew then what the future would hold? Would they have gone through with it? Would they have married one another if they'd known that their happiness would last only seven short years?_ He circled their faces with the tip of his finger, lost in thought._ It's obvious that they're in love but love can't conquer all, no matter what all the romantics say._ Jim looked up to find Chloe watching him curiously.

"What're you looking at there?"

"Just a picture from your parent's wedding. Which anniversary did you say this was again, Ian?"

"Tomorrow will be our thirty-seventh wedding anniversary," he replied proudly.

"Wow, thirty-seven years…wait, you said tomorrow is your anniversary?"

Ian nodded his head and glanced at the young man through the rear view mirror. "Why, does tomorrow mean something to you?"

"Two years ago tomorrow is the day that Superman was kidnapped."

"That's right," the older man said in quiet awe. "I was visiting Angie that day too, when it all happened. The hospital staff did a good job of not letting the patients catch wind of it—they didn't want to upset them and all—so I didn't find out about it until close to dinnertime."

"I was working at the _Planet_ when it all broke…" Jim continued, recalling that terrible day. "One minute I'm helping Lois out with a story, the next it's all over the wire that Superman was forcibly dragged off a playground. I don't think I've ever seen the Chief turn so pale so fast, _ever_," he said, his voice trailing off slightly. "Then again, I doubt that I had much color in my face either after hearing news like that."

* * *

Chloe turned around to face forward in her seat again, not daring to look at either of her companions as they discussed that dreaded day, fearing she might inadvertently betray her connection to the Man of Steel with a look or a word. She remembered clearly the day she learned that Clark had been abducted, as well as where she was when that horrible first fight aired later that evening on the news; it still made her sick to her stomach to think of it and everything that came after. _But he's safe now; he survived and that's all that matters…_

"You ok there?" her father asked, rousing her out of her thoughts and changing the depressing subject. "You look a little pale yourself."

Jim stuck his head in-between the seats to get a better look at her. "Your father's right, Honey, are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine, just a little carsick, that's all. I'll make it 'til we get to the Center—matter of fact, I can see Belle Reeve just up ahead," she said, pointing out to her boyfriend the non-descript building in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a large chain link fence.

* * *

As they neared the structure, Jim could clearly see the barbed wire coiled atop the enclosure and he cringed involuntarily; it reminded him more of a prison then a mental health facility. With little fanfare, the rented car turned off the road and into the dirt parking lot beside the front entrance to Belle Reeve. Ian reached over for the brown album Jim had replaced in-between the two front seats before striding over to the entrance, his daughter and her boyfriend following closely behind.

He walked purposefully up to the front desk with an air of false cheer as Chloe and Jim passed through the automatic doors. "Hello, Lisa."

The young nurse behind the partition looked up at him. "Why hello, Mr. Sullivan! It's so nice to see you again! Let's see, it's September, which must mean it's your anniversary—how many years has it been again?"

He gave her a proud smile. "Thirty seven years tomorrow that I married my Angie."

"And I'll bet she made a beautiful bride too," she replied meaningfully. Chloe and Jim sidled up behind him just then. "And who are these guests that you brought with you?"

"This here is my daughter, Chloe. Chloe, this is Nurse Lisa Taggert; she's been working here and helping take care of your mother these last few years since you've been here, and this is Chloe's boyfriend, James Olsen."

They simply nodded at one another, as the glass partition made it impossible to shake hands. "Nice to meet you both. I believe that your wife is in the Recreation Room right now, Mr. Sullivan, and if you'll all just sign in here and take these guest badges, I can let you in." She slipped the badges through a small opening in the glass along with a clipboard, and everyone signed their names and clipped the badges to the front of their shirts so they'd be distinguishable from the patients.

"If you kids don't mind, I'd like a few minutes with her myself, first."

"Sure Dad, go on ahead, that won't be a problem."

He leaned over and kissed his daughter on the cheek. "Thanks Bug. Don't worry, I won't make you wait too long." He gave Nurse Taggert a look and she buzzed him in while Jim and Chloe took seats on the orange sofa in the waiting area.

After five minutes of silence, punctuated every so often by the crinkle of a magazine, Jim turned to Chloe and asked, "Are you nervous?"

"Nervous? Why would I be nervous?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know; maybe because it's been awhile since you've seen your mom, maybe because I'm here meeting your mom…"

She looked over and caught sight of his knee bouncing up and down. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how nerve-wracking this situation had to be for him; she'd just kept herself emotionally shut down and far-removed from it all, never once letting him in on what she was thinking or feeling regarding the complicated relationship she had with her mother. It was only then that Chloe realized she hadn't prepared Jim at all—nor had she prepared herself. She reached out and placed a hand on his knee, stopping the incessant tapping while simultaneously steadying herself.

"I suppose I am a little _uneasy_ about seeing her again."

He laid his hand on top of hers. "I'm sure everything will be fine," he said, trying to reassure them both.

Before anything more could be said, the buzz signaling the unlocking of the reinforced door sounded and it made them both jump. They looked up to see Nurse Taggert holding it open for them in her crisp white uniform with a matching, bright smile. "I can take you in to see her now." The young couple followed her down several long, sterile-white corridors filled with patients and attendants until they passed through a set of double doors and into the Rec Room; they quickly spied Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan sitting at a card table in the center of the large room, chatting quietly.

Angela Sullivan looked a little unkempt to Jim's eyes but, at least outwardly, she didn't appear to be crazy. She wore a light pink t-shirt and jeans with white lace-less slip-on shoes, and her blond and white-streaked hair frizzed out on top of her head in all directions from the humidity. The older woman looked up from the photos as the newcomers approached and she graced them with a smile.

"Hello," she said by way of introduction.

"Hello."

"My husband is showing me pictures," she said cheerily, resuming her study of the photos as the pair took the only two vacant seats left at the table, Chloe sitting to the left of her mother and Jim sitting directly opposite her. He chanced a glance at Chloe's father and saw that the man's eyes were glassy and his lips were drawn tight; he was so happy to be with his wife and see her in a good mood that he could barely speak.

"Tomorrow's our wedding anniversary."

"Congratulations," Jim replied politely, unsure of what else to say. He noticed that Chloe, too, was hesitant when it came to addressing her mother.

Ian flipped through the pages slowly, and Jim noticed that they were in the middle of the album looking at candid family shots from the years after Chloe was born. Five minutes later, Angela stopped her husband and pointed to a photo in the lower right hand corner of the page closest to her. It was a shot of her that was nearly thirty years old: her long, blond hair hanging straight down in front of her shoulders as she stood smiling wide and pushing an equally blond-headed toddler on a swing. Sticking a finger out and pointing at the image, she said, "That's our little girl, Chloe. She's six years old now, and she loves the swings at the playground."

The young woman sitting beside Angela smiled at the image and bit her lower lip, a single tear streaking down the side of her face. "Yes, she did," Chloe replied, not bothering to correct her mother and risk ruining the moment.

Angela turned away from the photos and took a good long look at the woman next to her. "You look very pretty," she said, eying her daughter sitting beside her approvingly.

Chloe beamed at the compliment. "Thank you."

"You remind me of my daughter. She's much younger than you, of course, but your eyes look like hers—and your smile too."

* * *

Jim watched his girlfriend's body go rigid as Angela remained oblivious to the fact that this _was_ her daughter sitting right beside her, just as she remained oblivious to the passage of three decades' worth of time. All traces of the smile Chloe wore a moment before were gone and he reached for her hand under the table, giving it a sympathetic squeeze.

* * *

Her husband chose that moment to pipe up. "Angie, Honey, this _is_ Chloe," he said softly, setting the book aside and gesturing to their daughter. "Our little girl is all grown up. She's thirty-four years old now, and this is her boyfriend, James Olsen."

She looked at the three of them with a completely bewildered look on her face, and the long strands of her wild hair whipped around her shoulders as she shook her head emphatically. "No, no, no, no, NO! Our Cuddle Bug is _six_ years old, this is NOT our Chloe, this is NOT my daughter, this is an IMPOSTER, how _dare_ you try and TRICK me! The _government_, they sent you to try and TRICK ME!! WHY WOULD YOU TRICK ME, IAN? WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO _HURT_ ME!? WHY WOULD YOU LET THEM USE YOU TO HURT ME?!" she screamed, alternately banging her fists on the table and pulling at her hair.

Four large orderlies dressed in scrubs scrambled from their posts in the corners of the room to help stop the commotion while Ian did his best to single-handedly calm his wife. Jim sat frozen to the spot, scared out of his wits by the middle-aged woman's rapid change in demeanor, not knowing how to help or even if it was wise of him to do so. He was sitting there helplessly, staring at Angela as she shrieked about tricks and people out to get her, when Chloe pushed away from the table and dashed out of the room. Jim had enough presence of mind to push through the orderlies as they descended upon the crazed woman and took off after his girlfriend a split second later.

* * *

She burst through the double-doors and bolted headlong down the empty hallway, gasping amidst the sobs that rose up in her throat. Desperately seeking sunlight and fresh air; she stopped halfway down the corridor in front of one of the large, barred windows overlooking the dusty, disused exercise yard; wrapping her fingers futilely around the metal, she tried to pry the bars away so she could get at the window to open it. It remained steadfastly shut and Chloe cried out in frustration and grief as her efforts met with no success.

Jim came up behind her unnoticed; her heart was pounding in her ears and her sobs echoed so loudly throughout the chamber that she hadn't heard his footsteps approach. She jumped when he silently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. Chloe let go of the bars at his touch and turned to face him, burying her head in his shoulder and sobbing vehemently; he felt her hot tears seep through his blue cotton t-shirt, dampening the skin beneath, without any signs of slowing down. The young couple stood there, uninterrupted, for several long minutes before she reacted.

"It's not FAIR!" Chloe screamed out against the injustice of it all. "I just want my mother; why can't I have my mother?! I had her for six years and this…this…_DISEASE _has had for nearly thirty, so why can't I have her back?! I just want my mother back!!" She started sobbing harder into his shirt front.

He reached a hand up and gently stroked her hair. "Shhh, shhh, shhh…it'll be ok, Chloe…it'll all be ok…"

She stepped back from him and looked into his eyes, her face splotchy and streaked in tears. "It will NEVER be ok, Jim! It will NEVER! BE! OK! She'll _never_ get to know me, _never_ get to love me…I just want her to be proud of me and to love me…" Jim tugged her back into his soothing, strong embrace.

"I'm proud of you," he murmured in her ear when she stopped hiccupping. "And I _know_ it's not the same, but I love you. I also know how much it hurts for you to see her like this, but I could tell after only spending five minutes with her that she loves you so very, very much. Whether her mind makes her think you're six or sixty, she loves you, Chloe; she loves you with her whole heart, and that's a fact that you need to hold onto at times like these." He let loose a sigh as her tears began anew at his heartfelt avowal . "I wish there was some way that I could give her back to you or help ease the hurt that you're feeling, but I can't. I'm sorry, Love, I'm so sorry."

Ian emerged from the Recreation Room five minutes later, his own cheeks slick with tears, and helped escort Chloe back to the car for the return trip to the hotel in Tulsa. She sat in the back seat, curled up into Jim, crying the whole way.

* * *

Chloe had exhausted herself in the car, and Jim had carried her back to their room to let her rest. When she awoke two hours later, he suggested a hot shower to help erase the tension of the afternoon; she stepped out of the bathroom now, one towel wrapped around her slender body and another pulled up in a turban around her hair. Jim sat propped against the headboard, half-heartedly watching a baseball game on TV. He looked over at her as he heard her approach and turned the set off.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked concernedly as she sat down beside him.

She nodded. "Yes. The shower helped, thanks for suggesting it."

"No problem."

They stared at one another, each saying nothing, and Jim let the tips of his fingers graze the back of her pale white hand as it lay there in stark contrast to the maroon hotel bedspread.

"I suppose I should get ready for dinner," she announced, breaking eye contact and glancing at the clock; half-way to her luggage, she turned on her heel to address him again. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that earlier. I didn't invite you here just to watch me have a breakdown of my own." She chuckled nervously. "Maybe you should have left me at Belle Reeve too," she joked feebly.

He jumped up from the bed and crossed the room, grasping her firmly but gently by the shoulders. "Don't you _ever_ say that again, Chloe Sullivan, do you hear me?! My heart would break into a million pieces if I had to leave you in a place like that, even if the whole world told me it was for your own good. I don't know how your father has kept it together the way he has all these years…" She started sobbing again and he leaned over, placing a kiss in the middle of her forehead before continuing. "I love you and I'm here for you, through thick and through thin, you got that? Whether it's visiting your mother or meeting a deadline in Metropolis, I'm here for you."

It was all she could do to nod at him in response, and she let herself relax into his embrace, grateful for the love and support he was able to provide.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 6, 2009. **Superman made himself relatively scarce on the anniversary of his abduction, and while his absence had drawn criticism from a few media commentators, the rest of the world gave him little grief for remaining out of sight on this ill-fated day.

Lois knew better than most how the sixth of September affected her husband, and she was surprised when she rolled over in bed that evening to find nothing but a warm indentation beside her where he usually lay. _It must be some emergency to call Clark away today of all days, _she thought as she drifted back to sleep. A banging noise from the living room sent a stab of panic through her and she sat bolt upright in bed; another thump and she was on her feet, slipping quietly toward the bedroom closet for the baseball bat she kept hidden there. _Go figure, _she mused, gripping the bat tightly and keeping it raised and ready at her side, _the night our apartment gets broken into and my husband's probably off stopping a train from de-railing in Russia. Great, just great…_

Stealthily, she crept along the corridor in her bare feet and slipped into the living room, catching sight of a figure pacing before the TV in the dark. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she raised the wooden bat, ready to strike; Lois was about to bring it down on the intruder's head with all of her strength, when the dark figure spun around and grabbed the bat in a bare hand. Twisting it out of her grip, the man then sped over to the wall and flicked on a nearby light switch.

"_Clark_!" she hissed sharply, mindful of not waking the children while shielding her eyes from the bright light. "What are you _doing_ out here in the _dark_?!"

"What am I doing?! What are _you_ doing skulking around here with a baseball bat?! That's what you've got me here for, remember?"

Annoyed, she stood before him with her arms folded across her chest. "First off, Hero, this bat is for those rare occasions when you're _not_ in the house and on the off-chance that some idiot does unwittingly decide to break into Superman's home. Secondly, I am JUST as capable of protecting this family as you, regardless of whether or not bullets bounce off _my_ chest; and thirdly, stop changing the subject and tell me what was so urgent that it drove you to pace the living room at a quarter to midnight?"

He dropped the bat on the sofa and rubbed the back of his head guiltily with one hand while firmly gripping a sheaf of papers in the other. "I was expecting an important e-mail, so I kept my laptop on overnight; I heard the in-box ding when the letter arrived so I figured I'd slip out of bed, print it off…"

"And what, read it in the dark and scare the living daylights out of me?!"

Clark shrugged his shoulders. "You know, Sweetheart, the glasses are just for show—light or no light, it doesn't really make much of a difference to me."

"Yeah yeah—just like your toes don't throb when you bang them into stuff doing all this reading and pacing in the dark. For all our sakes, next time, put a light on! It's late and I'm tired, so I'm going back to bed, but _we are_ going to discuss this more in the morning, Buster. Good night."

* * *

Lois stalked off toward the bedroom, leaving her bat behind in Clark's care, while he rifled through the pages in his hand once more, a grim look darkening his regal features.

_I wish I could've gotten this information straight from her instead of finding out like this. This changes everything…_


	23. Chapter 23

_**East Side Slums, **_**December 13, 1998**. The 'College of Mr. Oswego', with an enrollment of only one student who actually gave a damn, was nearing the end of its ten year course and was a decidedly brilliant success. Leroy Russell had walked into the warehouse office a book-smart, twenty year old kid and emerged a worldlier and much wiser thirty year old man. On behalf of his employer, he had trekked across the globe so many times in the last decade that his passport was running out of room for stamps; the organization he had joined had doubled in size and quadrupled in business, all the while staying relatively low under the radar of the Metropolis Police. In fact, city officials were barely even aware of the presence of a man called Uncle who lived and worked out of the region of the Slums where the drug trade was most lively; an accomplishment of which Leroy was most proud of.

**Graduation Day, 7:47 pm. **Jacob walked by the closed door of Mr. Oswego's office and he could easily hear the argument through the thick wood door. Something in the voices made him stop cold in his tracks to listen; Uncle's voice suddenly rose above the din, calling his employer out over opportunities purposefully missed or passed by.

"…and you let that deal just fall apart!! What the HELL am I doing here if you're not going to follow through with the plans I laid out for you?!" Jacob heard fists banging down on a table.

"I'm an old man, Leroy, what do you want from me?! I want to slow down…"

"We can't slow down or else we're dead in the water! We slow down, the cops will catch onto us or that man, Caro, from Gotham—you know, the one who's been eying our territory—he'll swoop in and take it from us! We _need_ to keep moving forward with the empire we're building, Marcel." Jacob heard the chair creak as Uncle resumed his seat and their voices dropped down to a more reasonable level. He walked off to mind his own business cataloguing merchandise located in another corner of the warehouse.

**December 14, 1998, 9:07 am.** Jacob knocked on the half-open door while reading from the manila file in his hands. "Hey Boss…?" He looked up to find that the man behind the desk was not Mr. Oswego.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, Uncle, I was looking for the Boss…"

Leroy put down the papers he'd been rifling through and looked straight into his employee's eyes. "He _retired_; it was a decision he made just last night. I'm in charge now."

"Oh." Jacob's gaze happened to fall on the desk just then, and he noted several large droplets of blood just in front of where his new boss now sat.

"Was there a question you wanted to ask me…?"

"I'm sorry?" he asked, shaking his head. "Oh right, yeah, um, what time are we expecting that shipment from Africa to come in?"

"12:35 tomorrow morning, and I want to make sure our best men are on the docks when it arrives; the coordination on both sides has to be precise to avoid detection."

"Understood, Sir." Jacob ducked back out of the room quickly without another word.

And after that day, no one spoke of Mr. Marcel Oswego ever again.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**September 7, 2009.** "Hey Jim, you want to join us for lunch?" Lois called out above the din of the bullpen as she and Clark made their way past his desk toward the elevators.

He looked up from the batch of photos he was rifling through and waved them off. "No, that's alright, Chloe and I are meeting up at Wong's in a couple minutes anyway, so you guys go on and have a good time."

Clark spoke up before his wife had a chance to. "What a coincidence! Lois and I were going to go to Wong's too! Why don't we all go; we can wait for you and then we'll walk over together. Besides, it'll give us a chance to swap stories of our weekends."

Both Jim and Lois looked at him oddly, but the photographer finally assented. "Give me five more minutes and I'll be right with you guys," he said.

"Ok, we'll be waiting over by my desk whenever you're ready to go," Clark replied, leading Lois away by the arm.

She spoke up again once they were away from Jim. "What the heck was that all about? I thought we agreed we were going to go to the deli on Amsterdam, so why'd you say we were going to Wong's?"

"I just got a sudden craving for Chinese, that's all."

Lois stared at him, her eyes narrowing to little slits as she tried to read his face. It was moments like these when she realized just how good an actor her husband really was. "You're up to something…I don't know what it is yet, but you're definitely up to something…first the secret research at home, then the e-mail, and now this; I don't know what it is that you're doing, Clark Kent, but I don't like it one bit, not one teensy bit…"

"I'm ready," Jim announced, ambling up behind them while slipping his windbreaker on over her shoulders.

"Great, let's go!" Clark quickly rushed them over toward the elevators before Lois could get in another word.

* * *

A waiter showed Chloe to the booth in the back of the restaurant where she expected to find Jim waiting for her, alone…that is until she looked up and locked eyes with Clark Kent as he raised a hand in a dorky wave. After the events of the weekend, she wasn't ready for company but Lois and Clark weren't just any company, so she resigned herself to a group lunch and slid into the seat next to her boyfriend, greeting her friends with the most passable smile she could muster.

"Hi guys, I didn't know you'd be joining us…"

Clark interrupted her, waving his hand flippantly as he spoke. "Well, we just sort of decided to tag along, had a craving for Chinese and all. Besides, we're all _friends_ here, aren't we?" he asked, looking at Chloe pointedly over the rim of his thick glasses as he spoke.

"Um...yeah, we are," Jim answered, giving his friend another odd look while Clark tried tacitly to communicate something to Chloe. She raised her brows in confusion, missing the message entirely and reached out for a menu. Lois and Jim looked at one another, then back at their respective partners.

"Ok, what the heck is going on?!" Lois finally blurted out.

"Nothing...nothing's going on, Honey," Clark drawled placatingly, before picking up his menu to shield himself from the glares of his confused companions. A waiter came by a few moments later with glasses of water and to take their orders.

When the server left, Chloe raised the glass to her mouth as her tall friend opened his mouth to speak again. "So, how was your weekend?" he asked off-handedly.

"Oh, you know, same old same old…" Chloe replied casually.

"Really? I didn't know that flying out to Oklahoma was something you two did every weekend?"

She choked on her water and struggled to bring her coughing under control before wiping her lips with a napkin. "What makes you think we went to Oklahoma?"

"Well, Jim here says that you two went away for the weekend, and I thought to myself, 'What better vacation spot is there in the U.S. than Oklahoma?'"

Chloe slammed her glass down on the table, sloshing water all over the paper place mat before her. She knew exactly where her friend had gotten his information and it hadn't been from her boyfriend; it had come straight from her own lips while she was on the telephone with Jim, who had been sitting some forty feet away from Clark in a crowded and noisy room at the time. If she hadn't known that he had superpowers, she would've accused him of bugging Jim's phone right then and there.

"Look Clark, I don't know what you know, or what it is that you _think_ you know, but this _stops_ right now, understand? This isn't funny and I DON'T want to talk about it," she replied tersely, her body strained and her heart rate skyrocketing as she spoke.

His eyes narrowed at her. "You want to know what else isn't funny? Learning that your best friend has been holding back on you for the last twenty years, especially when said friend knows the most _intimate_ details of _your_ life!"

Jim watched in open-mouthed shock as his mild-mannered friend seemingly lost his temper for the first time in his life. Immediately he jumped to Chloe's defense. "I don't think you want to go there right now, CK…"

"The heck I don't!" Clark growled, brushing Jim away when he reached out for his forearm. Turning his attention back to Chloe, he added, "And you told him too! You've known him all of what, seven months, yet you trot out the whole tale for him while leaving me in the dark! ME, CHLOE, ME!! Why couldn't you tell ME about your own mother! I thought we were friends!"

* * *

Lois stared at her husband with wide, hazel eyes full of alarm; she hadn't seen him this angry since their mid-honeymoon fight several years earlier. Worse still, she had no idea what about Chloe's mother had caused him to become so irate…until now she didn't even know her friend even had a mother still living.

The blonde woman banged a fist down on the table. "FRIENDS?! If we were FRIENDS, _CLARK_, you would've known better than to go meddling around in MY LIFE!! You think that just because you're _YOU_ that you're entitled to know everything about me?! Well I've got news for you, Mister, YOU'RE NOT!!" She hung her head, the anger exuding off her like a pungent aroma. "Of all people, I expected BETTER from you," she hissed, grabbing her purse to beat a hasty exit.

* * *

The young photographer sat in the corner of the booth, glaring at his friend in disgust. Out of all the people he knew at the _Planet_, or even in the whole city, this was the last kind of stunt he'd have expected Clark Kent to pull. Adrenaline and anger surged through him and he grasped at the plastic covering of his seat to prevent himself from doing something he'd later regret; but that didn't stop his mouth.

"You really shouldn't have done that…" he said coolly, grabbing his windbreaker and rushing out the door to catch up with Chloe.

"What on Earth was that all about?!" Lois asked, stunned, when her voice finally returned to her.

Clark turned to look at his wife, his normally handsome face pinched in anger. "I overheard Jim on the phone with Chloe last Friday, talking about going out to Oklahoma to meet her _parents_."

"So?! What the heck does that have to do with anything?!"

He brought a hand up to his forehead and rubbed it. "Until then I didn't even know her mother was alive; she led me and everyone else to believe that she'd died shortly after her parents' divorce."

"I'll admit it's odd, but you're mad at her about this why?"

The muscles in his jaw bunched as he ground his teeth in anger. "Her mother lives in Oklahoma and has lived there for the last thirty years…in a sanitarium called Belle Reeve. She's a paranoid schizophrenic; I got an e-mail from a friend of mine out there with some of the legal documents showing that that was how Chloe's father gained sole custody of her after the divorce." He took a deep breath and looked straight into Lois' eyes before continuing. "Lois, she's known everything about me since I was nineteen years old—she's known all of my secrets since...since well, before even you. She was the first, and only person, I trusted for a long time and because of her I knew that I could trust again, that I could trust you with the truth of who I really am. But now I find out that she couldn't trust me in return! For _twenty years_ she wouldn't let me in, and dammit if I'm more then a little peeved about that!"

* * *

Lois stared at her husband for what seemed like an age and watched his broad chest rise and fall as he struggled to reign in his anger at one of his best friends. The gears of her mind churned as she put the pieces together; the 'personal' research he had done over the weekend, the late night e-mails, the furrowed brow. She, of all people, also knew how uncontrollable his hearing was—as much as he tried to block out all the sounds of the world, many of them managed to seep through, so it wasn't all that surprising that he'd caught parts of Jim and Chloe's private conversation. His anger was not wholly unjustified, given his relationship with his best friend, and yet the way he went about handling the situation had been downright abominable.

"Clark Kent, you have the biggest heart of any man I've ever known, but you've also just proven to me that you can be one of the biggest jerks, too. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I've just lost my appetite," she stated, sliding over and forcing him to let her out of the booth.

* * *

He stumbled to his feet, stunned at her reaction when he'd expected a bit of sympathy, and he watched as his wife strolled out of the restaurant and down the block back to the _Planet_. Four plates of steaming hot food were set before him as he sat there mulling over what had just transpired and he realized that he no longer had an appetite either. "I'm sorry, but would you mind packing this all up to go? Thanks."

The waiter stared at him, puzzled, before placing the plates back on the tray and walking away toward the kitchen, shaking his head the whole way.

* * *

The air in the bullpen between the three of them that afternoon was strained, to say the least. Jim arrived back at work after Lois and Clark, and Lois wandered over to offer her apologies to the photographer for the disastrous lunch, explaining her ignorance in the whole affair. He nodded, all the while glaring at Clark, who was hunched over his work, before returning to his own assignments. Lois returned to her desk without a word; she'd never seen her happy-go-lucky friend so upset before and it hurt her to know that Clark of all people had brought about such a change in his demeanor.

Jim left work early that afternoon without saying anything to anyone followed shortly by Lois, who loudly informed Clark that she was going to pick up the kids from her mother's; the tall reporter stayed in the bullpen into the late hours of the evening with nothing for company but his own dark thoughts.

* * *

Chloe sat across the kitchen table from Jim that evening, pushing his famous 'Fettuccine Alfredo a la Olsen' around on her plate. She and her boyfriend were both stewing with anger at their normally mild-mannered friend, albeit for different reasons, yet neither had spoken of it until now.

"Lois said to tell you how sorry she was for Clark's behavior—she had no idea what was going on until he explained it to her after we left," Jim informed her, replacing his wine glass on the table.

She twirled a piece of pasta around on her fork absent-mindedly. "I figured as much…she seemed pretty confused about everything while it was happening. When you see her tomorrow tell her I appreciate it, will you? I really don't feel like calling over there right now and telling her myself."

"Will do." They continued eating in silence for several minutes. "May I ask you something?"

She swallowed the bite of food in her mouth. "Sure."

"Not that I'm agreeing with Clark or anything, but why _didn't_ you tell him about your mother? I'm not saying you had to, I'm just wondering, given how long you two have known one another…"

"Because he would've tried to fix it!" she cut him off, the sound of her fork clattering against her plate echoing in the brief silence following her outburst.

"Excuse me?"

Chloe took several deep calming breaths to compose herself, thinking of how best to explain the situation to Jim without betraying Clark's super-secret. "We've both known him a long time, right?" Jim nodded quietly, letting his girlfriend explain. "Well for as long as I've known Clark, he's been a fixer. Tractor broken? He'd lend a hand to help repair it, regardless of whether you asked him to or not. Got a deadline on an article you need help writing? He'll be there to help you write it…even if he has his own deadline to meet. He's selfless, and that's part of the charm of Clark.

"But my mother is something he can't fix; you met her—you knew her for all of five minutes and when I was wailing into your shoulder even _you_ wished you could do something to bring her back to me. The miracles of modern science can't even fully help her and it drives me mad to have to stand on the sidelines while this disease steals away her mind; and if it's a situation that drives both you and me to despair, imagine if I had told someone like our own Mr. Fix-It? That's why I never told him, Jim; I didn't want his pity, I just wanted his friendship, and he didn't need to know the details about my mother in order to be my friend."

He watched her sip from her wine glass as the full weight of her words sunk in. "And how do you feel about him knowing now?" he asked her hesitantly.

"Honestly? Right now I feel like clocking him for being such a sneak and researching my past as if I was a lead on one of his articles…but I know better then to attempt that." She pursed her lips as she imagined herself hitting Clark's broad steely chest, rubbing the knuckles of her right hand as she did so. "Other then that, I don't really know. I will admit that he does have a bit of a point, but I'm just too angry with him to think about that right now."

* * *

"Why are you so jealous that Jim learned about Chloe's mother before you did?" Lois asked later that night, flicking on the bedside lamp before rolling over to face her husband as he sat down on his side of the mattress. Clark still wore his red, yellow and blue suit from the small emergency that had required his presence halfway through dinner.

"I'm not jealous; I'm mad that she didn't feel that she could trust me enough to tell me this information herself. Besides, what makes you think that any of this has to do with him?"

"Well, for starters, there's the way you won't refer to him by his given name. 'Him'? Really Clark...since when has Jimmy been just 'him' to you and me? You make him sound like some nameless intern when he's been our friend for years! Then there's this nagging suspicion I have telling me that you wouldn't be acting this way if Chloe had withheld the information from all three of us…not that she should have felt compelled to tell any of us in the first place, but still…"

He shrugged his broad shoulders again and heaved a sigh. "I don't know! Don't get me wrong, I'm still incredibly upset that she didn't trust me enough to tell me first, but…"

"Maybe you're also mad because you think she trusted Jimmy more than she trusts you even though she's known him for a shorter period of time?" Lois offered, reaching out a tiny hand to clutch his forearm.

He turned to her with sad blue eyes. "Yes! I mean, I haven't kept any secrets from her since she discovered I was Kryptonian, and now I'm doubting if our friendship means as much to her as it does to me!"

Lois looked her husband over, perplexed. "Wait a minute…did you _tell_ her or did she find out on her own?"

Clark ran a hand sheepishly through his thick black hair. "It was a little bit of both, actually. One night she caught me catching an out of control car with my bare hands…"

"Oh my God…"

"But she waited a whole year for me to tell her the truth about myself; she never once let on that she knew my secret in all that time." He watched as his wife bit her lower lip in thought, the gears of her mind churning at full speed. "What, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking it's ironic, really, that here you are going on and on about her lack of trust in you when clearly it's you who doesn't trust her. I mean, you're telling me that Chloe kept _your_ secret for a whole year when you two were what, eighteen, nineteen years old, and you're griping about how she didn't tell you about her mother? Trust isn't simply about going tit for tat with each other's personal information, Clark…"

"I know that…"

"And in the middle of all the snooping around that you did to uncover _her_ secret, did you ever stop and think how Chloe might be feeling about all this? Did you wonder what other reasons she might possibly have for not telling you?"

Clark scoffed at his wife and turned away to pull off his boots, placing them underneath a nearby chair for easy access. "I think that one's fairly obvious, Dear; she doesn't _trust_ me, and I think she was feeling pretty ok in her decision until I blindsided her at lunch with everything I knew."

Lois pulled herself further up in bed. "Would you just _get over yourself_ for _five minutes_ and think about this rationally? You're acting like the 'World's Biggest Boy Scout' turned into the 'World's Biggest Whiner'! What if _her_ reasoning has nothing to do with trust at all?"

He tossed the cape on the chair and threw his hands up unhappily. "Ok Lois, please, enlighten me as to the inner workings of the female mind and tell me what possible reasons Chloe would have for not telling me her mother was alive."

"Because you of all people would have felt compelled to fix it! You are the ultimate hero, Clark and from all of the stories I've heard from your family and friends, you were the ultimate hero long before you ever donned the 'Suit'," she explained, fingering a bit of the blue spandex as she spoke. "You would've insisted on going to Oklahoma to see Mrs. Sullivan for yourself; you would've flown in doctors from around the world, gotten medicines and herbal therapies from the four corners of the globe—in short, you would've done anything humanly and Kryptonianly possible to help Chloe's mother because Chloe is your best friend and you would move Heaven and Earth for her. And it would've all been in vain! Not only that, but it would have driven Chloe mad because you would have given her hope that there was a cure to be had when there wasn't; setting her up for more hurt and disappointment. Perhaps _that_ is the reason she didn't choose to tell you!" Lois paused, watching her husband's face as he processed this new information. "Please tell me you agree with me here?"

Clark stood up slowly and spun out of the blue suit and into his pajamas before settling back on the bed to face his wife. "After you, she's the only other person on the planet I would've risked turning back time for; you're right, I would've done anything for her," he replied solemnly, stroking the side of her cheek.

"You can turn back time?"

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to forget the images of Lois crushed to death in a chasm in the California desert.

"I take it there's a story there that you might be willing to share with me once you've patched things up with Chloe, am I right?"

He nodded again, banishing the images of his wife's limp and lifeless form to the back of his mind.

"So I guess you don't need me to remind you of how horribly you handled things this afternoon, do you?"

"No, you don't…but in my defense, I was just so angry I wasn't even thinking straight…"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I understand better than you think, or don't you recall how thrilled I was when that baseball side-swiped your head and I finally learned the truth about you? Believe me, I get where you were coming from earlier; I think what we both need right now is to go to bed so that you can figure out how you're going to make this up to Chloe, Mr. Fix-It." Lois said with a smirk on her face as she leaned over and gave her husband a quick kiss good night.

He sat up in bed a moment longer, pondering over his wife's sage advice until the sound of her steady, even breathing reached his ears, and he soon found himself slipping under the covers to join her in slumber.


	24. Chapter 24

_**East Side Slums, **_**July 20, 1999.** Leroy sauntered into his newly renovated office feeling as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. In the months after Mr. Oswego's 'retirement', he'd shaken up the very foundation of the organization they'd spent ten years collaborating on together, hoping to expand the business even more and improve it's cover image. Another basement level had been added to better collect, store, sort and distribute more product while the offices on the upper level were re-decorated. Mr. Oswego's private office now looked less like the workspace of a used car salesman and more like that of an up-and-coming CEO embracing the twenty-first century. Things should have been looking up.

Instead, Leroy sat in his leather chair with a sigh and picked up the nondescript envelope in front of him looking extremely peeved.

Inside was yet another returned check from his mother. She'd refused to speak to him, see him, or spend his money in the last eleven years, and yet she always knew where he was and how to return his checks. _Yet another problem I __don't__ want to deal with right now, _he lamented privately, resolving to send more cash to Renee, Michelle or Penny for their mother's sake while tucking the un-cashed check in his desk drawer. _At least my sisters aren't above taking my money_, he thought, briefly recalling how all the women in his family were morally opposed to his work in varying degrees. He flipped open the latest edition of the _Daily Planet_ to try and escape his woes only to have another Superman headline and color photo greet him.

"DAMMIT!" Leroy cried out exasperatedly, flinging the paper halfway across the room. _This man in blue tights is __**really**__ getting under my skin!! Thank God he's too busy handling more imminent disasters, like stopping tornadoes or catching helicopters, but it won't be long before he decides to help fight 'The War on Drugs' and finds me—especially if what that Lane woman is saying is true, that he's making Metropolis his home. This is great, just great, an invulnerable superhero right in my own backyard…_

A knock at the door jolted him from his reverie. "Come in!" he called out sharply. Jacob opened the door and stepped partway into the entry, just enough to be seen and recognized by his employer. "Yes?" The young man's eyes darted to his left as he was pushed further out into the middle of the entryway and Leroy saw the gun pressed against his temple. Very quietly, he reached for his own gun strapped into a holster on the underside of his desk.

"Uncle, I presume?" the man with the gun called out as he shoved Jacob into the room, before shuffling in behind him.

Recognition dawned upon Leroy; the face of the man before him had been splayed across the covers of all the major newspapers months ago once it had been discovered that his 'legitimate' corporation was engaging in some not-so-legitimate business operations, most of which were aimed at undermining government authority. "Lex Luthor—what are you doing above ground? I thought you went into hiding eight months ago?"

Lex winced at the unveiled insult. "Ahh, Uncle, flattery will get you nowhere…but it just might get your associate's head blown off here." Jacob didn't bother cringing, he just locked eyes with his boss and waited to see what their next moves might be so he could react accordingly.

Leroy stealthily slid his gun onto his lap. "You're right, where are my manners? Please, have a seat." He motioned to the two empty chairs before his vast desk. Lex nudged Jacob to take the seat on the right as he sat down in the one on the left. In the blink of an eye, Leroy had pulled his gun on the bald madman, thereby completing the deadly triangle. "I believe that whatever business you have to conduct with me here today can be done without further fire power, don't you agree?

A eerie smile crept over the older man's features. "Well played, Uncle, well played; yes, I do believe that we can get along nicely for a little while…" He lowered the gun into his lap as Leroy set his on his desk. Neither man took their finger off the trigger.

"Jacob, you're excused." The young man got up and hastened to quit the room as he was told. "And please close the door behind you on your way out." With a final nod to his employer, Jacob turned around and left.

"So you're Oswego's replacement. I remember hearing him mention you from time to time, but we've never had the pleasure of meeting; something about you always being out of the country."

Leroy pursed his lips and inclined his head in Luthor's direction ever so slightly. "Enough with the pleasantries, what did you really come here for, Lex?"

"What, you get to call me by my first name and all I get to call you is 'Uncle'? That hardly seems fair…"

"You're trying my patience," Leroy ground out, cutting him off while tightening his grip on his gun.

"Fine then, business it is; I want your contacts in Addis Ababa to help me with a project that I feel could be mutually beneficial to both our organizations…"

One hour later, Leroy escorted Lex Luthor to the exit, shaking his hand firmly before the older man stepped back out into the daylight. "The plane will be ready this evening, and my associates will meet you at the landing strip in two days time; however, I will instruct them to shoot on sight if your check doesn't clear. Same goes for the return trip if half of the product isn't sent directly to this warehouse, understand?"

Lex bared his teeth in a large, less-than-genuine grin. "Absolutely. As always, it's been a pleasure doing business with your camp."

The two men let go of the hold they had on one another and walked briskly away in opposite directions.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**September 9, 2009. **It had been a tense two days in the office between Clark and Jim, and since Chloe still wasn't taking her husband's calls, Lois didn't know how long it would be until the awkwardness subsided. Jim walked by Clark's desk just then, photos in hand and glared at the reporter for the umpteenth time as he made his way toward the Chief's office. Once the door closed behind him, Clark rose decisively from his desk; he was so preoccupied with his ever-mounting frustration at the rift he'd caused in the friendship, that his movements were purposeful and graceful—and decidedly un-Clark like.

"That's it, that's enough! I can't take it anymore, I'm ending this right now!" he said emphatically. Lois' eyes followed his progress as he stalked off toward the stairwell and only she knew to listen for the pop of the sonic boom as he took off in the clouds overhead, directing himself toward Chloe's office building.

* * *

"Good afternoon, you've reached the 'Metropolan', this is Todd speaking. How may I help you?"

The young man fidgeted with his pen in his hands as he held the telephone up to his ear. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a tall man stepping out of the stairwell and studied his unkempt appearance while nodding intently in agreement with the freelance writer on the other end of the line. "Right, I understand, but unfortunately Donovan's not in the office right now. May I transfer you to his voicemail?" The newcomer mussed up his hair and stepped forward into the middle of the seating area, pushing his glasses back up his face and peering around at the over-large magazine covers that hung on the walls. As soon as he transferred the call Todd stood up and came around the side of his desk to assist the visitor.

"Good afternoon and welcome to the Metropolan. My name is Todd, how may I help you?" He half-raised one eyebrow as the man stuck his hand out for a handshake and then pulled back, thinking better of it.

"I'm Clark Kent, and you see, I'm a f-friend of one of your reporters here; do you know Chloe Sullivan? W-well she works for you folks and I'd like to speak with her if I could."

"Certainly. Does she know you're coming? Do you have an appointment?"

Mr. Kent's mouth dropped open, as if he were taken aback by the simple question. "No, I, uh, d-don't have an appointment, but you see she's my friend—an old friend in fact—so if you'll just point me in the direction of her office…"

Todd held up his hands and stood before the interloper, barring his path. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Sir, it's against company policy. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't have an appointment."

He cringed as the man's voice took on a half-pleading, half-whining tone. "Can't you just call up to her office and let her know I'm here? Please?"

The two were about equal in height, and Todd puffed himself up in preparation for a confrontation. "I'm sorry, Sir, but you're going to have to leave now…"

"Clark?" Both heads turned in her direction, and he saw the surprise in Miss Sullivan's eyes as she caught sight of her 'friend'. The tall man backed away and hastened to her side, a hand reaching out for her elbow which she promptly jerked away.

"I know I shouldn't have stopped by at your office unannounced like this, but I've been trying to get a hold of you and you wouldn't return any of my calls," he explained, the hurt from her reaction to his presence undeniable on his face.

Todd could see how uncomfortable the visitor was making their new reporter, and he approached her with every intention of throwing the man unceremoniously out on his rear. "Is he bothering you, Miss Sullivan?"

"No, but thank you for your concern. I'll be perfectly alright."

He nodded at the two, making his way back to his desk slowly lest he be called to her aid. Todd hesitantly took his seat and picked up the ringing hand set.

* * *

"Is there someplace we can talk?" Clark asked his old friend sheepishly as she stepped into the empty elevator that opened up before them. He followed and watched as she punched the button for the top floor. "I've been trying to…"

Her hand flew up from her side and she held it palm-side out in front of his face, effectively cutting him off. "Shh!"

"But I wanted to…"

"Shh!"

"Won't you even…?"

"Shh!"

He finally got the point and clasped his hands in front of him before moving to stand quietly shoulder to shoulder with her as the floors flew by. They disembarked on the top floor and took to the stairwell, eventually gaining access to the rooftop where he'd touched less than two minutes before.

* * *

Chloe stepped out into the dreary September afternoon and turned to face her friend, arms crossed in front of her chest defensively. "What the heck was that all about, Clark?! And the way you were practically parading your secret around in front of Jim like that—what were you thinking, as if he weren't suspicious enough about you lately?! Why don't we just take out a billboard in the middle of downtown and have it out already, huh, how about that?! My God, everybody thinks you're this honorable and noble good Samaritan but sometimes you can be such a…such a…JERK!" she shouted at him, frightening the pigeons from their congregation near the roof's edge.

Clark looked at her curiously. "Parading my secret around? I wasn't doing anything like that!"

"Yes you were!" she responded in a huff. "You just flaunted the fact that you had super powers right in his face! How else could you have just 'happened' to hear about our trip to Oklahoma? His desk is thirty feet away from yours in a noisy crowded bullpen! _Nobody_ can hear a conversation in there, not even the ones they're in the middle of!"

"Ok, so maybe I shouldn't have been so careless…"

"Maybe?!"

He shuffled forward, scuffing the top of the roof with his shoe while thrusting his hands deeper in his. "I was just so caught up in thinking about how you didn't trust me," he told her sheepishly.

"Oh yeah? Well I thought _you_ respected my privacy; turns out we were both wrong."

She had the satisfaction of watching him wince as her words hit their mark. It was some minutes more before either one chose to speak again.

"You're right, Clo; it was none of my business and I shouldn't have gone snooping around. I'm sorry about the way I handled things and I'm sorry I didn't trust that you had your reasons for not wanting to share this bit of your life with me."

Chloe stepped over to one of the smoke stacks and sank down, pressing her back against the protrusion as the anger that had kept her going that week dissipated, leaving only weariness and grief. "You have no idea how hard this has been, Clark, absolutely no idea." She paused, sucking in a breath sharply to stop herself from crying; hearing the tremor in her voice, he walked over and sat down beside her, slipping his glasses into his front pocket. "Before I knew about you and your gifts, the reason why I chose not to tell you was because I was ashamed. I was ashamed of my own mother because I thought that if you knew you'd think I was crazy too—it's stupid, I know, but at fourteen you don't really think all that logically.

"Then, as we became closer friends—best friends, really—my absentee mother became a non-issue…until the day I saw you catch that Oldsmobile as if it were a beach ball, then that changed _everything_."

Clark opened his mouth to speak, but she forged on, anxious to get everything out.

"I mean—I knew you were a do-gooder and that you'd always been that way, but finding out that you had these _incredible_ powers which you were using to _do_ all that good…well, for one brief moment I selfishly thought you might be able to give me my Mom back."

He nodded solemnly as she finally met his gaze. "Lois suspected one of the reasons why you chose not to tell me was because you didn't want to get your hopes up only to find out that I couldn't deliver. What was it she called me—a boy scout? I'm sorry, but I can't help being one; I just can't stand seeing anyone in pain, especially my family and friends; I'd do anything and everything for you, and then some. But you knew that already didn't you?" Clark looked down at the roof for a moment as if weighing something on his mind before meeting her gaze again. "Can I just ask you one thing though? Why did you tell Jim before you told me? What made it easier for you to tell him when you couldn't bring yourself to tell me after all these years?"

"Because as good a man as both of you are, he wouldn't have flown around the globe trying to find treatments for my Mom. The prospect of telling you both was terrifying, but telling him was just easier somehow—to be completely honest, I think it was a lack of superpowers and not a lack of trust that was at issue here."

"Oh."

She reached over and patted his hand comfortingly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. You've got a good heart Clark, you really do and we all love you for it, but your head…I'd really like to know where your head's been at these last few days. After the weekend I'd had, I really needed my best friend, even if he didn't know the full story."

Clark bit his lip hesitantly, debating whether or not to speak. "Well I'm here now—that is, if you'd still like to talk."

Her watery green eyes locked with his earnest blue and she nodded, delving headfirst into the whole sordid tale of her weekend with Jim meeting her parents.

"I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there," she finished, wiping away the few tears that slid down her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I mean, that's partly why I haven't gone to see her these last few years, because she doesn't recognize that I'm all grown up and that I've accomplished so much. It's so heartbreaking to have to see her like that; watching as she slips back into her paranoia without any warning hurts just as much as if she were to strike out and hit me with her bare hand."

"I'm so sorry, Clo, I really had no idea. I'm glad Jim was there for you, though, and that you weren't alone," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder in support. "Speaking of which, I think I owe him an apology too when I get back to the office."

She nodded emphatically. "Yes, you do. He is none too pleased with you at the moment, not that you needed me to tell you that."

"No, you didn't."

They sat there on the roof for some time, after discussing the events of the past week and resolving their issues. Their close camaraderie slowly returned, proving beyond all doubt that the tapestry of their friendship was woven of something considerably stronger than each had ever imagined.

He stood up slowly and held out his hands, helping her to her feet and pulling her into a fierce hug. "You should probably get back now before your receptionist/bodyguard calls the cops, telling them I've kidnapped you."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you'd hear the cops coming long before they ever entered the building to try and arrest you."

At that, Clark threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Oh no, they'd be sure to catch me red handed," he replied, tugging on one of his ears. "I'm doing my darndest to keep things more firmly in check from now on. No more public displays of powers, inadvertent or otherwise, unless I'm on duty—I truly am sorry for catching part of your private conversation with Jim, Chloe, it wasn't consciously done."

She put an arm on his shoulder and took in a deep breath. "I know—must be hard to control those big ol' Dumbo ears of yours, huh?" She reached up and caught a bit of his ear lobe in her fingers. "Let's hope my niece and nephew don't inherit them too."

He scoffed at her teasing. "Dumbo ears? Dumbo ears?! I'll have you know I have a fine pair of ears, thank you very much," he replied, smirking. "So does this mean that I'm forgiven for being an idiot?"

Chloe let out a laugh at his self-deprecation; reaching up on tiptoe she gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. "Yes, you're forgiven."

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**September 11, 2009, 9:09 am.** A significant thaw had prevailed between Jim and Clark once he and Chloe had reconciled, and the mood amongst the trio in the bullpen was considerably lighter as the end of the work week rolled around once again. However, the peace in the office was short-lived, as Perry stood in the doorway to his workplace hollering for the three of them.

Lois seated herself in one chair and Clark rested against its arm while Jim took the second seat. All three waited for their Editor-in-Chief to impart whatever it was that required their immediate attention.

"The police found another body in an alleyway off Market Street this morning with an X cut over the heart. It looks like the Ladykiller Killer is back."

Clark's teeth ground in his head and he involuntarily gripped his pencil in his hand tighter, causing it to snap loudly. Lois deftly deflected the attention away from her husband.

"Ladykiller Killer, Chief? Honestly, couldn't you have come up with a _better_ name while I was on maternity leave? There's just no flow, nor any imagination to it…"

Perry rolled his eyes at her mock tirade. "Lois, if I had wanted a better name for this psychopath then that's what I would've asked you for when you first walked in the door! Right now, I want my two best investigative reporters on the scene and I want you to take Jim with you for photographs. We got lucky these last few months since he went to ground, but now that he's back you can be sure there'll be another body by Monday if the police don't act fast. I don't know how they're going to catch him though; this one's even got Superman stumped! Perhaps you can pursue that angle in your piece as well, maybe get a hold of him for an interview and find out what he's thinking. Now get going before the _Messenger_ beats us to the story, you got that?" The three nodded in response and beat a hasty retreat out of the room.

* * *

They had collected their belongings from their respective desks when Clark slipped on his overcoat and felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. "**You have 1 New Text message**," the screen read. Flipping it open he found a text from Lois; it simply read, "Get going, Hero." He nodded in her direction before catching up to his friend.

"Listen, Jim," he said, making a point of hanging up the cell phone. "I have to go, that was the babysitter, they need me to come check on Haley. I'll meet you guys there, ok?"

"Oh yeah, sure, go ahead Clark. Lois, you sure you don't need to go too?" Jim asked, concerned for the baby.

She looked from her husband to their friend and back again. "No, I'm sure she's alright, she was fine this morning so it's probably just the sitter being overly cautious. Besides, Clark can handle the problem if there is one and he knows I'm only a phone call away if he needs me."

"Ok. Well we better get going then before the Chief develops heat vision and incinerates us from the doorway," he joked, nodding in the direction of Perry White as he stood imposingly in the entryway to his office, glaring and waiting for them to get moving. The three friends rode the elevator together before separating in the lobby; Lois and Jim hastened to a cab and Clark to the nearest alleyway to ditch his three-piece suit and briefcase.


	25. Chapter 25

_**East Side Slums, **_**September 2, 1999. **Leroy re-read the article buried below the fold on page B-16 of the _Metropolis Messenger_, the ink on his hands attesting to how much time he'd spent holding the paper open before him.

_Two tiny, insignificant lines in the entire half page article—those morons don't know how valuable the information is that they have right at their fingertips!!_ Thomas Smith, staff reporter, had done a follow-up article chronicling Lex Luthor's latest exploits after he'd endeavored to simultaneously blow up the East and West coasts of the United States with the Army's own nuclear war-heads. It was the same fare he'd read pretty much every day for the last three days since the incident occurred, but with one major difference.

"An eyewitness to Luthor's lunacy in his subterranean penthouse alleges that Metropolis' Man of Steel was temporarily subdued by a green rock of unknown origin. Police have yet to corroborate this report and as of now, there are no leads as to what this substance may have been or whether there is more in existence," Smith wrote.

With a glance behind him at the three wooden crates stamped FRAGILE sitting in the back corner of his office, Leroy wondered the same thing. He picked up the phone and hastened to make a call to his contacts in Africa.

* * *

_**Alley off Market Street, **_**September 11, 2009. **Clark made sure to circle low over the crime scene once before descending so he wouldn't startle Lt. Henrickson. Al caught sight of the red and blue blur out of his peripheral vision and stood ready, waiting for the otherwordly man to touch down.

"Getting a little slow there, eh Superman? We've already been here for half an hour," he said, extending a hand to the hero and personal friend.

Clark struggled to suppress a very un-Supermanly retort, replying instead, "Yes, well, you know that if I'd heard anything suspicious I would have been the first responder."

"I know, I know. So, since you've just arrived, why don't you tell me what you do know?"

Clark unfolded his arms from across his chest and walked over with Al Henrickson towards the body. "Nothing aside from the fact that another body was dumped in the alleyway here with an 'X' cut above the heart, indicating that there's either a copycat or the Ladykiller serial killer is back. Care to tell me who discovered the body? And have your people been able to recover anything useful from the crime scene yet?"

Al pointed to an elderly woman sitting on a stoop across the street from the alley, clutching a small Pomeranian dog to her chest while giving her statement to a uniformed officer. "Oh it's the real thing alright. Mrs. Duncan, over there, called it in. She lives in one of the buildings nearby and was walking her dog, Tiki, when he started tugging on his leash here in front of the alleyway; that's when she noticed the leg jutting out between the trash cans and called us. Poor woman is scared half out of her wits."

"Tiki?" Clark asked incredulously, momentarily breaking character.

The older man shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? She named the dog, not me. Anyhow, we pulled a wallet off this victim which is a bit unusual for the Killer; his name was Zachary Bennett, age 39. We found a lot of business cards in there, but no license, which is strange considering that he owned his own car service—you know the kind, driving the rich and unlicensed around in those sleek, fancy town cars because they can't be bothered to chauffeur themselves."

"Actually I don't know. I really have no need for a car."

Al glanced up from his notepad and smirked at his friend's sarcasm. Flipping idly through his notes, he finished, "It's the first time the killer's left a wallet behind on a vic, so we think he's getting sloppy. We won't know much else about Mr. Bennett here until we get him back to the lab for an autopsy and run the standard credit checks to find out what he's been up to in the last seventy-two hours—other then that I'm afraid I don't have much for you right now."

"I see. Any indication as to how long the body's been here?"

"The M.E. on the scene thinks this was one was dumped fairly early in the morning, probably around two or three or so, which means that if this victim fits the pattern of the other murders then the killer didn't keep him around for very long before finishing him off."

Clark raised a hand to his chin at the disconcerting news. "No, he didn't…and between the sloppy dump job and the shorter capture time I think it's safe to assume that the violence is only likely to escalate until we catch him. Have you been in touch with Agent Woodrow about this to get her input or see if the FBI could get involved?"

He nodded his head in the affirmative. "I talked to Clarissa a couple months ago when the bodies first started popping up, and she said that the FBI was swamped with cases like this and that they wouldn't be able to do anything about it until there were either a lot more bodies or the murders started getting really gruesome."

"Well that's comforting," the Man of Steel replied humorlessly.

"That's exactly what I told her." The Lieutenant turned his attention down to the opposite end of the alley as he heard the slam of two car doors. "Oh look, your fan club's here."

Clark smirked. "Alright, I'm going to see if I can't find a van matching the description of the one seen fleeing the last crime scene; I'll let you know if I find anything." Lt. Henrickson turned back to the crime scene when his friend caught his arm. "And Al?"

"Yes?"

"Try and give her _some_ bit of information to work with, would you please?"

The older man chuckled and walked away from the cape-clad hero, turning his back as the younger man took to the skies once more.

* * *

Jimmy started snapping away at the scene while Lois confidently approached the yellow tape just as her husband took off.

"Oh Al! Al!!" she called out cheerily, waving her notepad and trying unsuccessfully to get her friend's attention. He pointedly ignored her a while longer until he heard her voice call out in frustration, "Lt. Henrickson! Might I have a word with you, please?!" He broke away from his colleagues and came right over to her.

"Yes, Mrs. Lane-Kent, how may I help you?"

She put her hand on her hip. "What, I can't call you Al anymore?"

"Not at the scene of a crime, Ma'am." He flashed his most professional smile, all the while suppressing a sly grin as she held out the pad of paper to write down his responses.

"So, _Lieutenant, _have you been able to identify the victim yet?"

_Geez, the two of them even think alike now…_"Yes we have, but unfortunately I can't share that information with you until we've had a chance to notify the deceased's next of kin."

Lois scribbled away, asking her next question without looking up. "And can you confirm that this is indeed another victim of the so-dubbed Ladykiller Killer?"

"Tentatively I can say that we believe this to be another victim of the same serial killer that struck Metropolis several months ago; officially, we won't know more until the Medical Examiner performs the autopsy."

She nodded her head and jotted the last of his statement down. "Just two more questions, Lieutenant, and then I'll let you get back to work: do you have any theories as to why there's been such a long gap between killings?"

Al rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's an interesting question there, Mrs. Lane-Kent, and one that the police have been looking into from all different angles. The current theory is that there is a transient behind the killings; possibly someone who rides the freight trains in and out of the City on an infrequent basis."

"You don't seem to be particularly attached to that idea though."

"No, I'm not. The killings are malicious but they're also clean. We're dealing with someone who has a lot of rage and a lot of time on their hands—not to mention someone with a secure place where they can take the victims, as well as access to a vehicle to get them to a dump site—two things a transient wouldn't have at their disposal."

"Ok, last question: do you have any recommendations or precautions that you'd like to pass on to the people of Metropolis who fear that they may become the next victim?"

He nodded at the intelligence of the question before carefully responding, "Yes, I do. A pattern has emerged where it appears that most of the victims were young, professional males who were last seen in or around a bar setting; they were also alone and moderately-to-heavily intoxicated at the time that they were abducted. We recommend that those people who frequent such venues do so with a group of friends, that they keep an eye on their drink at all times, and that they keep their drinking to a minimum so that they may be aware of their surroundings as they enter and exit the bar. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and we're trying to limit the killer's resource so that he won't be able to strike again. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to return to the investigation…oh, and please be sure to say hello to your husband for me next time you see him," with that parting comment, Al walked away to speak to the uniformed officer who had just finished taking the witness' statement.

Lois reviewed her notes and added her own thoughts as to the look and feel of the crime scene before ambling over to Jimmy who was reviewing his photos on the digital camera's screen. "Get any good shots there, Jim?"

He looked up and gave her a half-smile. "Oh, you know, they're not too bad. It's a shame Superman left as we were getting here; the Chief would've really gone wild for a few shots of him at the scene to go with your story."

"Well speak of the Devil, there he is again," she said, pointing down to the end of the alley where her husband was conferring with Lt. Henrickson and his associates once more. Lois smiled a little schoolgirl smile and shook her head, intuiting that her husband had returned to the scene as his caped alter-ego only in the hopes of getting back fully into Jim's good graces—how he planned to do that when the photographer didn't know the two men were really one in the same person she wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to stop Clark from trying.

* * *

A minute after Superman took off again Clark came jogging around the corner. "Hey stranger! Everything ok with Haley?" his wife asked, artfully keeping up the dodge.

"Oh yeah, she's fine, nothing to be worried about," he replied as he sidled up between her and Jim, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nervously adjusting his tie.

"We're just about ready to leave unless you had some questions you wanted to ask the Lieutenant yourself."

He peered over the rims of his glasses at the officers standing near the body and tuned into their conversation briefly. Satisfied that there wasn't any other relevant information being discussed that he didn't already know, he turned back to his wife. "No, that's alright, I'll head back with you to the _Planet_ if you're sure you've gotten everything."

"Suit yourself." She walked on ahead of the guys to Market Street to hail a cab. Jim trailed behind to show Clark the photos he took of the crime scene.

"What do you think?"

"I think the Chief will like them. You got some great shots of Superman in there too, he'll be really pleased with that."

Jim took the camera back and peered at the images once more. "Yeah, I suppose you're right…"

Clark looked over his young friend curiously. "What is it, Jim? Are you afraid Perry will go off on you again or something? Because if so, we can go back and get more photos, I'll even wait with you if you want…"

"No, no, that wasn't what I was thinking just now—I don't know how to explain it really, but something about these crime scene photos isn't calling out to me like it did with the McGowan one."

"Oh?" Clark asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That didn't make much sense, did it?"

They reached Lois at the end of the block where she stood half-in and half-out of a cab, waiting for them to catch up. "Not to me, but that doesn't mean much considering that Lois and I aren't exactly professional photographers; we still take our family photos with those cardboard boxes full of film and just hope we catch everybody smiling and facing the camera at the same time."

"What was that about cardboard boxes full of film?" Lois asked as the three of them settled into the back seat and gave directions back to the _Daily Planet _building.

"Nothing, Dear, it was nothing."

* * *

Lois and Clark had finished their article several hours earlier, after having checked with their source at Police Headquarters to verify the victim's identity and cause of death. Same as before, the man was tortured, starting with the X above the heart and ultimately strangled before being dumped like so much garbage in the alley near his home. Clark grimaced as Lois relayed the information from the ME regarding the torture of the unknown man, and Jim watched him out of the corner of his eye as his face became more drawn and pinched in anger; it was almost as if his friend felt personally responsible for the man's death, when the only hand he had in the whole sordid affair was reporting it as news for the paper.

Jim had called Chloe shortly after his friends left for the day to inform her that he'd be working late, and he now sat back in his chair, stretched out in front of his desk while staring intently at his computer. The infamous Francis McGowan photo that he'd spent hours scrutinizing in the month before his sister's wedding filled the screen; the photographer lazily clicked on his mouse to zoom in and out of random sections of the photo, looking for the elusive clue he knew was there but that remained stubbornly out of sight.

"You know, back in my day, photographers used to blow up images and examine them with a magnifying glass when they were looking for something," Perry stated from his position just behind Jim's left shoulder, startling the young man and causing him to jump up from his chair. Jim wasn't aware that his boss was still in the building at such a later hour. "I may not be a photographer, Olsen, but I do believe that just because you can do something digitally doesn't mean it's always right," the older man added, clasping a weathered hand on the young man's shoulder briefly before walking over to the elevators to begin the trek home.

Jim was suddenly struck with an idea while listening to the Chief, and he hurriedly transferred the image onto his hard drive stick before grabbing his jacket and following Perry out the door.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 13, 2009. **Chloe hung up the cell phone in her hand and wandered into the living room where Jim sat on the sofa, staring intently straight ahead.

"In case you were wondering, that was my Dad on the phone just now. He said to tell you 'Hi' and he hopes you're doing well. I told him I wasn't so sure about that last part but that I'd pass the message on anyway," she informed him, coming up behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Hmm? What was that? I'm sorry, I'm a bit distracted…"

"That is the understatement of the weekend," she replied, coming around the couch and sitting down beside him, staring at the panel in front of them.

Jim had taken the photo on his portable hard drive to a friend who worked at a nearby copy shop, and had the image blown up to such a size that it could be broken down into six, two-foot by two-foot sections, each mounted on ¼" thick foam board. He'd been staring at them for the better part of the weekend, alternating between assembling them into one large image on the floor in front of the television, then breaking them down so that he'd be staring at just the top or the bottom of the entire picture, and finally shuffling the pieces so that each stood independent of its brethren and was therefore taken completely out of context. He was currently looking at one of the lower panels containing Francis McGowan's leg.

"You know, when you're done examining this for work we could hang it up as a piece of art on the wall just inside the doorway there, that way you'd never have to part with it."

Her boyfriend turned his head to properly face her, his jaw hanging open in incredulity. "That's a little morbid, don't you think? Having a picture of a _real_ dead guy hanging on the wall?"

She put her hand on his knee. "Relax, it was a joke! I'll be so happy to see this thing in its own trash can—just as soon as you find whatever it is you're looking for." They sat shoulder to shoulder in silence, inspecting the blow-up once more when Chloe leaned forward, intent on something. "Jim? Did the victim in the picture have long hair that he kept tied back?"

He furrowed his brows in confusion. "Not that I can recall, why do you ask?"

"It's probably not important," she said with a wave of her hand as she got up to make herself some tea.

"No, tell me, what made you ask that?"

Chloe walked back over and pointed to Francis McGowan's foot where it jutted out from behind the cans. "It's just this thing right here, see? Underneath his heel? It looks like a hair elastic, that's all."

He got up from the couch and stood beside her. _She's right, it is; but what's that right there? _ "Honey, what would you say that looks like beside the elastic? Is that something, attached to the band there but kind of obscured by the paper?"

She shrugged her shoulders and straightened up. "I'm not sure—it could be, but it's really too fuzzy to tell at this size."

Jim dashed over to his laptop to plug in the portable hard drive; in his haste and excitement, he got it on the second try and quickly booted up the original digital copy of the photo. Now that he was looking for it the hair band was clearly visible…and smaller then the tip of a needle. _No wonder I missed it, but I knew it, I knew it was there!_ "Chloe, come take a look at this," he said, blowing up the picture on his monitor to a larger size that wasn't nearly as grainy as the version on the foam board.

"I think you're right, it looks like a little pink flower or something. I think they sold those in the same shop where I bought your sister's hair combs for her wedding and let me tell you, for a simple elastic with a bauble on the end they do _not_ come cheap."

She stopped mid-sentence as Jim punched the air, shouting "YES, YES, I KNEW IT! YES!!"

"You knew what?! What's going on?!"

"Don't you see what this means?!" he asked her loudly, pointing emphatically to the screen before him, not caring that the tip of his finger discolored the LCD screen. "You don't just toss out jewelry like that! This means that that hair elastic didn't get under Francis McGowan's foot by accident, it was left there accidentally by the killer, a killer who happens to be…"

"A woman!" Her hands flew to her face as she caught up with his train of thought. "Oh my God, Jim, that's why Superman hasn't heard any type of struggle as the victims left the bars!"

"I know!"

"Oh my God!" she repeated again, nearly screaming.

"I know! We have to call Lois and Clark and Perry!!" he exclaimed.


	26. Chapter 26

_**East Side Slums, **_**January 26, 2000. **_Daily Planet _reporter Lois Lane had dubbed the substance capable of rendering Superman powerless 'Kryptonite', so named after his long dead home world. No one knew if there was more of it, least of all the Man of Steel, or even where to get it, which gave Uncle quite the advantage. He turned from the yellowing newspaper article to glance at the crates stacked behind him, before returning to the faded page, the ink smudged from being handled daily for the last three months.

Jacob stuck his head in the door after giving a slight knock."The man from Metropolis University that you wished to speak with is here, Sir."

Leroy looked up from the article, focused on his employee and tucked the article safely away in one of his desk drawers. "Send him in."

"Right away." With a quick nod of his head Jacob disappeared from view momentarily. Leroy took the opportunity to throw a dark blanket over the crates while leaving the crow bar on a nearby filing cabinet.

Jacob led a bewildered, middle-aged man into the office and yanked the black sack off his head. Dr. Henry Korngold was of short stature with thinning, soft brown hair and a rather large pair of spectacles that made his eyes look owlish; he nervously re-adjusted his glasses as he examined his surroundings. He was still wearing the white lab coat he had on when he'd been forcibly dragged from his laboratory on the campus.

"Please, Dr. Korngold, have a seat," Uncle said graciously, extending a hand towards a plush chair in front of his desk.

"Are you crazy?! Who are you!? You _kidnapped_ me and now you want me to take a seat?! What next, are you going to try and offer me tea?!" he cried out backing away toward the door only to try the knob and find it locked from the outside.

"Dr. Korngold, please, I'd rather this didn't become unpleasant."

The Doctor's gray-blue gaze darted around the room once more and he gulped audibly. "Unpleasant?" His host simply nodded, and he hastily moved forward toward his seat.

"Thank you. Now, I have a proposition for you. I understand that you've run up quite a debt with your on-line gambling habits, have you not?"

"H-how did you know that?!" he squeaked nervously. The baffled man looked over at the desk as he spoke. "You d-don't even h-have a computer, how could you possibly know a-about my finances?!"

"I have my sources, Doctor; you have never heard of me before you entered this room and you never will again, but my influence extends far beyond these walls," Leroy answered him with a calm voice and cool demeanor; his attitude only served to agitate his guest more, and the man started to shake.

"W-what do you w-want with me?"

"Very simply? I want your expertise." Leroy stood up, and with a grand flourish, snapped back the blanket covering the crates. Dr. Korngold slowly got up from his chair, his curiosity getting the better of him, and pushed his glasses up his face so he could better make out the address stamped on the top: Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. A minute or so more was all it took for Leroy to work the top off the crate, and he reached inside for a large chunk of meteorite. Holding it aloft in his long fingers, he turned his attention once again to his guest, passing the piece across the top of the desk so the geologist could examine it.

He pulled a second pair of spectacles from his lab coat pocket, swapping out the ones already on his face, and eagerly took the mineral, studying it intensely. For several minutes he rotated it in his hands, pausing to peer at one or two of the greener points with keen interest, before replacing it on the desk. "Here's what I can tell you: it's not serpentinite, it's not fountain slate, and regardless of what it says on that crate there it is definitely NOT African in origin."

Leroy feigned a look of surprise. "What makes you say that?"

Dr. Korngold picked up the piece again, his nervousness dissipating as he quickly slipped into the lecturing mode he was most comfortable with. "See this outer layer here, covering the green? It is too dark and porous—definitely _not_ the type of rock you'd find in such an arid country as Africa. Without having my equipment here or time to make a more formal study, I'd have to conclude that it was otherworldly in origin, that what you have here is a meteorite unlike any other." He peered around his host at the crates in the back of the office. "Are all six of those cases filled with samples like this?"

Ignoring the man's question, Leroy pressed on. "Would you be able to extract the green rock from the meteorite without damaging the material?"

The professor scoffed. "Yes, absolutely! It would take some time of course; I'd need the proper equipment, not to mention that I'd have to clear this with the University before I'd be able to proceed…"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"Our arrangement hinges on absolute secrecy, Doctor; if you wish to absolve yourself of your gambling debts then I'll require you to make the necessary excuses to your colleagues as well as your family and devote at least twenty hours a week to extracting the green rock from the meteorite; my associate will coordinate everything with you on your way out this evening. Now, as a gesture of goodwill, I will give you 125,000 dollars up front to be put toward erasing your 500,000 dollar debt. I will then give you another 34,000 dollars for each crate that you finish and once the task is complete, I will give you a final payment of 125,000 dollars. No one can know what we do here—not your wife, Iris, or your two lovely daughters Beth and Susan…not even your sweet, little old parents Lloyd and Monica down in Florida are to know. Do you understand?"

The scientist paled considerably at the veiled threat and a cold sweat dribbled down his forehead as he nodded mutely in compliance.

"Very good then. Please leave a list of equipment necessary for the project with my employee outside, as well as the times and locations for your pick-ups and drop-offs," Leroy reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick envelope, tossing it across to the startled professor who caught it clumsily before shoving it in his pocket. "That is all, Doctor. You're dismissed."

* * *

_**Daily Planet,**_** September 14, 2009, 8:02 am. **"Ok Olsen, you said over the phone that you'd figured it out, so why don't you show us what you got?" Perry asked grumpily from his seat opposite Lois and Clark at the conference table while Jim stood beside whiteboard at the head of the room.

"Sure thing. Ok, so you know how this photo's been bugging me for weeks?" he asked everybody, passing around smaller copies of the McGowan photo to the three people assembled around him. They each took a quick glance and nodded. "Well, the Chief here caught me scratching my head again on Friday after we found the other body so he suggested that I have it blown up. An old buddy of mine works at a copy shop here in the City and he helped me do it with my digital copy." Jim flipped around the single piece of foam board he'd brought with him so that they could better understand and clearly see what it displayed. "This is the section showing Francis McGowan's foot, as you can see here in the lower left hand section of the original photo." He pointed out the section in question using Lois' smaller copy before turning to address Perry. "My girlfriend, Chloe, was the first to notice it. It's a hair elastic, caught under the heel of the man's shoe."

"You mean to tell me that you roused me out of bed at an un-godly hour because of a hair band?! Olsen, I may be getting up there in years, but I'm still young enough to recognize that there are men out there nowadays that wear these silly things in their hair too, so why all the fuss?!"

"Because Chief, Francis McGowan didn't have long hair; in fact, his hair was shorter than mine," Clark interjected, his eyes widening a little at the theory he thought his friend was proposing. "And I think what Jim here is trying to tell us is that he thinks the killer is a woman and that she accidentally left this at the scene."

"That's exactly it!" Jim cried out, glad to see that someone had been paying attention. "And see this, right here? This little bit of pink? Chloe said it's a gem that's attached to the elastic, possibly part of a decorative flower or something like this picture here that I found online." He passed around the image he'd found of the accessory in question. "The position of the hair elastic in relation to the position of the body indicates that they were left there at the same time, meaning that the elastic belonged to the killer and that the killer is a woman!"

"Not bad, Olsen," Perry stated in a non-committal fashion. He squinted at the smaller print in his hands before turning his gaze upon the larger one at the head of the room. "But I'm still not buying it. Yes, the killer _could_ be a woman, but we have no hard evidence to prove it—and you all know I won't go to print with anything that we can't prove. You need facts to back up this angle you're chasing." Jim's face fell in disappointment; _here's the break we've been searching for and the Chief's just dismissing it._

Lois nodded emphatically with her Editor-in-Chief's assessment while Clark stared at the picture and pondered over it awhile longer. "If it _is _a woman, it could explain why the men all left the bars without putting up much of a fight," he said, more to himself than to the room at large. "It might also explain why the only thing these guys seemed to have in common was a love of womanizing."

"That was one of my first thoughts too!" the photographer cried out, joyful again.

Clark turned to Jim with keen blue eyes. "What did the police have to say about this?"

"Well, I got in touch with your friend, Henrickson, and he went back through the evidence logs when I told him of my suspicions. At first he didn't seem to think much of what I found in the photo either, but when he found that a hair elastic had been catalogued at the scene, he became a bit more receptive. He told me that he'd be sending it off to the lab for fingerprints and DNA analysis and that he'd get in touch in a couple of days."

"DNA?" Perry chimed in. "You mean to tell me they actually found some hair on that thing?"

"Yes Sir, right here, wrapped around the gem," Clark answered, pointing to the smaller photo. His friend and his boss stared at him in astonishment; they couldn't even see a hair on the blown-up photograph, let alone its five-inch by seven-inch counterpart. Lois simply rolled her eyes and frowned at her husband's particular brand of obtuseness, wondering how he was going to dig himself out of this one. "I, mean uh…at least that's where it _p-probably_ is; you know, Lois' hair gets caught in stuff like that a-all the time. Doesn't it, Honey?"

"All the time," she admitted flatly, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Jim turned his attention back to the Chief. "Yes, the Lieutenant did find a few strands of hair on the band once he pulled it out of evidence, but we don't know anything yet. They've only had this information for a few hours."

Curious, Perry raised an eyebrow. "Interesting development, Olsen I'm not going to run with it yet, but keep me posted on what your friend in the precinct thinks. And you two," he said, getting up from the table and turning his attention to Lois and Clark, "I want you to look into this, see if there's any truth to it. If there is it'll make for one hell of a headline." The Chief quickly quit the room.

The two young men found themselves looking at Lois as she sat puzzling over the photograph in her hands, her perfectly manicured brows furrowed together. She had remained conspicuously silent on the subject during the entire meeting, and only now did she choose to speak up. "I'm not buying it."

"Not buying what?" Clark asked.

"That this serial killer is a woman; I'm not buying it. Nine out of ten serial killers are men, so what would make a woman go serial? And how come no one's found any other evidence linking the murders to a woman before now? It's all too circumspect for my liking."

The trio sat in silence a moment mulling over her words, before Jim perked up again. "Maybe it _is _a woman but she's _not _serial?"

Clark looked at him, intrigued. "How do you figure?"

"Ok, this'll prove I've been watching too many cop shows, but bear with me here. What if only one of the men was the intended victim and the others were all killed to cover it up? _Or _what if we're looking at a copycat killer—I mean, it's been how many months since the last victim and only now does another body pop up? It's all a bit fishy if you ask me."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Clark aid.

"You may be onto something with that one," Lois added, staring hard at the photographer/research assistant as her cynical mind feverishly worked over the details. "It _was_ an awfully long time between killings, which is _highly_ unusual behavior for a serial killer. Usually they start coming down from their high and begin trolling for a fresh victim before they get too low; they don't go to ground for several months and then resurface like this. The possibility that it is a copycat is very likely."

"I don't know, Lois," her husband chimed in, "The crime scenes where all the victims were found did look awfully similar, not to mention that it's hard to get that level of accuracy without some prior knowledge."

"And yet you're willing to go out on a limb and say that the killer is a _woman_ just because of one loose hair elastic?"

"Hey!" Jim chimed in indignantly. "Just because you're labeled as being the 'fairer sex' doesn't mean that you're incapable of murder; besides, _you_ of all people should have heard the phrase 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' before! We could be dealing with one pissed-off female with a vendetta here!" Lois gave him a pointed look, reminding him just who exactly he was dealing with. "Oh. Right. Of course you've heard it before." Clark couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his lips at his friend's embarrassment.

She swept the wisps of chestnut hair off her face, before wagging her finger at both of them. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. Jim, the Chief wants you to follow up on your lead, and since my husband seems so intent on agreeing with you and your angle, why don't you and Clark look into the _possibility_ that the serial killer is a woman while _I _investigate the copycat angle? That way, when you find out that the hair elastic's placement was just some random coincidence, there won't be too much time lost."

Both men narrowed their eyes at her superior tone and hasty assumption that she alone was right. "Ok, you're on," Clark agreed, reaching out to shake her waving finger with his hand while accepting the challenge. "And when _we _discover that _we're_ right, you'll see that no time was wasted at all because _we_ worked together."

Lois laughed as she pushed her chair away from her table. With a toss of her head, she added, "I'm not too worried; after all, it _would_ take the two of you to do the work of one of me." She had just left them behind in the room, mouths agape, when the Chief cut off her exit.

"There's been another body, in an alley off Crantz Avenue. Follow the story, and I want to see if the female serial killer angle pans out. Now get going!" The trio scrambled to collect their belongings—their disagreements over the killer's gender temporarily set aside in pursuit of the story—and fled the room.

* * *

Clark made his usual excuses and separated from Lois and Jim at the office, arriving at the scene of the crime in record time to find Al waiting for him, looking pensive and grave.

"I take it your photographer friend updated you on the most recent development?" the Lieutenant asked.

He nodded. "How much longer until you hear back from the lab?"

"I'm not sure," Al told him truthfully. "The science stuff is a bit over my head, but I think they might know sometime this afternoon if the suspect is already in our database."

"Will the tests also tell us if the owner of the hair is a man or a woman?"

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes and suppressed a smirk. "We've got a hair elastic with several _long_ dark hairs twisted around a _very_ pink gem, and you want us to tell you if it belongs to a man or a woman?"

Clark inclined his head ever so slightly at his friend. "Humor me, please."

"Ok," the older man said, begrudgingly, "But it'll just be a waste of company time and money."

The superhero took a few steps forward and looked over the scene. As hardened as he liked to think he was by sights like this, the scene unfolding before him served to shock even _his_ sensibilities. He visibly struggled not to flinch and turn away, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the officers and technicians standing nearby; he felt their gazes upon him as he stood stock still examining the body, and he even heard one or two of them gasp as he struggled not to recoil. The man was younger then the last victim, with blond hair and blue eyes that the killer hadn't bothered to close after his death; but what startled the man most was the fact that the victim's nose and exposed chest were caked with blood, partially obscuring the X carved into the torso.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't get a chance to warn you about that, this one's obviously bloodier then the others. Whoever this guy is he must have put up one hell of a fight because _he _OR_ she_ had to break his nose at some point while they had him. Whoever it is also remembered to take the wallet this time, so we have no ID on the deceased just yet, but I'll be sure to get that info to you as soon as possible." Al looked upon the body once more. "And frankly, if I were twenty years younger and working in a corporate office I'd be quaking in my boots right about now. This killer has racked up seven bodies in seven months and even _you_ haven't heard a peep; that's got to be some kind of record since you arrived here in Metropolis."

Clark's jaw clenched in resolve, his shaking hand clenching into a fist full of resolve as the Lieutenant set the facts before him. "Well if it is, it's one record I'd like to see broken, fast." He cocked his head to the side, catching the sound of Lois' voice as she and Jim pulled up in a taxi nearby.. "I'm going to take off if you don't need me for anything else."

Al shook his head. "No, this one's cold, so I doubt that the truck would be hanging around; but if you wouldn't mind taking a quick peek from up above to see if there's anything we've missed, I'd sure appreciate it."

"Not a problem," he replied, clasping his friend on the arm. Without another word Clark took off into the cloudy blue sky.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, September 14, 2009, 5:27 pm. **"Kents!" the Chief bellowed from just inside his doorway. Two heads shot up in the middle of the bullpen where they were crowded around one computer monitor. "Where's my article?! And where are we on that new lead!?"

"Geez Perry, don't get your undies in a twist, we're double checking our facts here!" Lois retorted. "Wouldn't want the paper to have to print a retraction because of rushed research, now would we? Think of all the damage that would do to the reputation of your best investigative team, not to mention the paper!" The Chief huffed in indignation at the mention of his underwear before returning to the privacy of his office, leaving them to their work. Turning her attention to her husband, she added quietly, "Do you want to call the 'sitter' or should I?"

Clark looked up from the sentence he was editing, holding the red pen aloft. "I'll make the call—after all it _is_ my mother who's watching the kids. I just hope she didn't have any plans with Ben tonight; when do you think we'll be done here?" he asked, putting down the pen and picking up the telephone, already dialing their home number.

"My guess is sometime around 8 or so, maybe a little later. I want to go over some things while the information is still fresh, see what I can come up with."

He nodded in agreement just as his mother picked up the other end of the line.

* * *

**6:33 pm. **"Knock, knock!" Chloe called out as she rapped on the open conference room door. "I heard there were a couple of hungry reporters working overtime tonight and I thought I'd do my part and feed them. Hope you guys don't mind but I decided on Chinese, given how last Monday's lunch was a bust and all," she said, plopping the two large bags of food down on the table.

"Oh thank God, this beats whatever I was about to grab from the vending machines!" Lois answered hungrily, all but lunging at the nearest container placed in front of her.

Jim passed her a pair of chopsticks before continuing to pull cartons of food from the greasy bags. "How can you eat that stuff, it's disgusting! Do you even know when's the last time the vendor re-stocked that thing?"

She shook her head and finished slurping the end of her bite of noodles, before pausing to glance at her friend, the chopsticks poised and ready for another bite. "Nope, can't say that I do, why?"

"My point exactly; those egg salad sandwiches in there could date back to Perry's days riding a desk back in the 70's, we have absolutely no way of knowing." Chloe sat down between her boyfriend and her friend, watching the exchange of playful banter and laughing.

"Oh eww, I ate one of those last week! I think I'm going to be sick…" She put the container down on the table and pushed it away dramatically.

"Lois, I wouldn't worry if I were you," Chloe added jokingly. "If the sandwich was bad you would've gotten sick long before now, not to mention that I think egg salad turns green after a decade or so." Her mirthful gaze darted around the conference room and back out into the bullpen before returning to Lois' face, searching for Clark.

"Hey Clo, when'd you get here?" her tall friend re-entered the room just then, as if in response to her un-asked question. Clark tugged at his tie, reassuring himself that it was on straight and inadvertently signaling to both women in the room that he had just returned from a rescue.

"Just a minute ago, thought I'd bring some food for the troops."

He took a deep whiff of the air around him. "Mmmm, Chinese, how ironic. Glad to see your sense of humor hasn't left you," he replied, snagging a random container and settling in to the seat beside Lois, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. They ate their dinners in thoughtful silence until Clark caught Jim looking at him queerly. "What is it?" He touched his glasses as he spoke for fear of having forgotten to put them back on his face.

"Did you step outside just now??"

"Uh, why do you ask?" he tried to ask noncommittally.

"Because your hair is wet. Is it raining?"

Clark shot the women an anxious look and Lois jumped in, knowing full well that it was much easier for her to lie than it was for her husband. "You must have taken my advice and splashed some cold water on your face to help you stay awake, isn't that right, Clark?" Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "He was up with Haley for a good portion of the night last night—she was being really fussy."

"Oh," Jim replied simply, before turning his attention back to his food with renewed vigor.

* * *

**7:01 pm. **Several half-empty containers of Chinese food littered the table interspersed amongst hand-written notes, internet searches and archived articles as the foursome continued trying to make headway on their case. Clark was the picture of concentration where he stood at the front of the room, hands jammed in his pockets and chin resting on his chest, staring unblinkingly over the tops of his glasses at the red and yellow-dotted map of Metropolis taped to the dry-erase board. Chloe sat next to Jim, reviewing his notes on the six known victims so far while Lois sat opposite them, chewing on the end of her pen and reading from the sheet before her.

"Ok, these are the locations where the victims were last seen alive, excluding the John Doe from this morning," he said, indicating the yellow dots which were all tightly concentrated within a six block radius in the heart of the city. "So far, the killer has frequented 'The Watering Hole', 'The Skellig', 'O'Malley's Pub' and 'The Mad Hatter'; in fact, three of the last six victims were from O'Malley's, which is located here," he informed them, pointing to the most Easterly yellow dot.

"Perhaps the killer and the copycat worked together at one of those pubs," Lois chimed in.

"Perhaps," Jim agreed. "Or maybe _she _works there now, or worked there in the past."

Chloe rolled her eyes at the pair. "_Perhaps_ you're both missing the bigger picture here—why is O'Malley's a hotspot for the killer when he or she goes trolling for victims? Is it the type of men that frequent that bar that attract the killer? Is it the location? What is it about these places that make them stand out from all the other drinking establishments around here?"

"Excellent points, Clo," Clark said, writing them down on the dry erase board next to the map. "Tomorrow, why don't we see if we can't pull employee records for all these places for say…the last five years?" he glanced at his wife for confirmation "And see if there are any connections that way."

"Not a bad idea," Lois conceded, scribbling something on her notepad. She resumed chewing on her pen. "Say, what do we think of the red dots indicating where the bodies were left? We know they're near the victims' homes, but why? It doesn't exactly look like it's convenient for the killer, dragging bodies all over the place—not to mention he's upping the ante by doing so and leaving himself more open to getting caught."

The young blond woman nodded in agreement with her friend, adding, "I may not know much about serial killers, Lois, but I do know that someone so mentally disturbed that they go out and kill seven people isn't too terribly concerned about logic."

The foursome fell silent at that, and began studying the map again with renewed interest and brevity. Clark pushed his glasses back up to his eyes as they persisted in sliding down his nose. "I wonder…" he said in a barely audible voice.

"Wonder what?" Jim asked. His brown eyes went wide with speculation and he perked up like an eager school child.

"Take a look here; these are all upper-middle class or downright wealthy guys that are being targeted, right? And they live in neighborhoods with people who are demographically similar to them, correct? What if the killer—male _or _female—resents wealth and wealthy men in particular? The rich always assume that crimes like these can't happen to them, or that they can't happen in their homes or their neighborhoods, so what if the killer goes out of his or her way to dump the victims near their homes just to shock and offend?"

Lois got up from her seat and strode around to the other side of the board, staring at the red dots with him. "I think you just might be onto something here, Smallville." A telephone rang out in the bullpen, and everyone turned to see where it was originating from. "It's mine," she announced. "I'll take it outside." She strode briskly out of the conference room, leaving her husband and her friends to puzzle out this latest revelation without her.

"We're chasing after needles in haystacks here," the photographer lamented, his demeanor vacillating wildly for the umpteenth time that day. "We're never going to find her; there's too many 'what if's."

Chloe stepped forward and rubbed his shoulder, reassuring him with her touch. "Have a little faith, Jim; have a little faith."

"Yeah, after all, look how far we've come in the search today," Clark added just as Lois returned to the room.

"That was Al Henrickson on the line. They ID'd the body a short while ago. His name was Ivan Rutter, and he signed music groups for Apricot Records here in the City. Apparently he was one of their shining stars…"

"And let me guess, he just signed a big client for the record label either on Friday or sometime over the weekend?" her husband finished.

"You're right on the money. Not only did he call to tell us that, but he said that the crime lab got some preliminary results on the hair they pulled from the elastic this morning. Now don't get your hopes up, boys, _but_…" she began, sounding much less haughty then she had earlier in the day, "There were at least _three _different types of hair stuck in the gem of the band. Two of the three belonged to past victims Nathan Lee and Terrence Williams."

Jim's jaw fell open slightly. "And the third?"

She sighed, not ready to admit total defeat. "Early testing indicates that there is a sixty-four percent chance that the unknown hair belongs to a woman." Chloe beamed as her friend validated her boyfriend's hard work with the police's findings. "But like I said, this is a _preliminary _result; the Poly…Poly—"

"Polymerase Chain Reaction test," the young woman from Smallville finished for her, knowing how difficult it was for Lois to admit she was wrong, let alone attempt to pronounce the scientific name of the test while she was at it.

"Thank you. The Polymerase Chain Reaction test normally takes thirty days for an accurate result, but the MPD lab is one of a handful in the country trying out new methods of testing and that's how Al was able to get an answer to us earlier. They're still running the more accurate test, but with a sixty-four percent reading telling us the hair might be female…"

Clark smiled slyly and winked at his wife. "You're beginning to come around to our way of thinking?"

* * *

**8:13 pm. **"So what have you been able to find out so far, Clo?" Lois asked over the other young woman's shoulder as she plopped a fortune cookie in her mouth.

Chloe turned and glared at her friend for the loud crunching in her ear, then pointed to the screen. "I've been going through this guy's credit card reports, and I think this is the last one. How in the world does a thirty-six year old man get a hold of 12 different credit cards? Better yet, what did he do with all of them—carry them in a man purse?" She looked over at Lois for an answer and got a shrug of the shoulders. "Anyhow, he did a lot of wining and dining over this last week in particular, probably setting up his final deal and it looks like the last stop he made was at 'The Watering Hole' on Saturday night."

"And none of his friends reported him missing?" Jim piped up from his work at the other end of the table disconcertedly.

"He would appear to have been the type of person that had a lot of casual acquaintances, but only a very few _close_ friends that he kept in contact with with any regularity, so it's not all that surprising that he should disappear for thirty-six hours without anyone saying anything," Clark answered, entering the room and flipping through Ivan Rutter's phone records that Chloe had printed off earlier. The two women caught his gaze as he spoke, knowing that he was speaking from personal experience, and both were proud to be in the latter category.

Chloe returned her attention to her computer screen. "There, that's the last of the credit card reports for you," she said triumphantly, hitting the print button and stepping away from the computer, grabbing her coat. "And now I'm ready to head home. Jim?"

He looked to Lois and Clark as if waiting for permission. "What are you looking at us for? You have a life; we're not your parents, so go on home! We'll probably be following you out in a couple minutes too." She looked to her husband for confirmation that he was as ready to end the workday as she was and she wasn't disappointed. "We'll meet back here in the morning and go over this with fresh eyes, okay?"

Jim nodded in agreement as he hastily threw on his jacket before holding out Chloe's as well so she could slip her arms in it. "Sounds good to me. Good night guys, see you tomorrow!"

"Good night!" The Kents called out in unison from opposite ends of the room.

* * *

**8:25 pm. **Clark was about to suggest that they head home too when he took a minute to study Lois, unobserved. She stood by the printer, pulling page after page of financial records off the tray as soon as the machine could spit them out, scanning them intently before placing them face down on the table beside her so she wouldn't mess up their order. The pins that had been holding up the bulk of her chestnut brown tresses had been relieved of their duty some hours before and her hair now hung loosely in waves, brushing over the shoulders of her dark pant suit jacket. There was something seductive in the way she swayed from the printer to the table, wholly concentrated on her work and almost oblivious to his presence, that caused Clark to rise up out of his chair with a primal need, even before he was aware of it himself. He sped behind her without a sound, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and bending over slightly so he could whisper huskily into her ear, "What do you say we call it a night too?"

Lois let out a yelp of surprise at the swiftness of her husband's movements before relaxing and allowing his warmth to spread over her. She spun around deftly and looked up into his eyes while a devilish smile played across her full lips; without warning, she leapt into his arms and snuggled into his safe embrace—a romantic motion that no member of the bullpen staff would have ever believed her capable of unless they had been there to witness it themselves. "Take me home, Farm Boy," she whispered back. Clark kissed her deeply before looking up and out into the bullpen, making sure that they were completely alone. He sped toward the stairwell and up onto the roof in the blink of an eye, neglecting to stop for their coats, purse or briefcase or even spin into the suit, and flew off into the night sky to deliver his bride back to their apartment and their waiting children.


	27. Chapter 27

_**East Side Slums, **_**July 15, 2000. **Dr. Korngold remained mercifully oblivious to the dangerous nature of the work he was doing, and had managed to separate nearly 75 pounds of Kryptonite from its meteorite casing. The industrious geologist was working his way through the sixth and final crate when Leroy decided to finalize his insurance policy against extraterrestrial interference. The makers of his policy were a father/daughter team well known in certain black market circles all over Europe, and it had been a large capital investment to fly them into Metropolis just for a consult; however, the price was well worth it when he saw what the artisans could do and learned that they had decided to stay.

The father, Scott Mansell, looked to be in his mid-fifties with graying hair shaved close to the head. He was a plain-looking man of average build, easily forgettable, however he had one real, discerning feature—his fingers. The digits were abnormally long, skinny and extremely dexterous, serving only to heighten the natural skill he brought to his trade as a master forger and artist. His daughter, Flora, was in her mid-twenties and, unlike her father, she was very remarkable; she had fiery red hair plaited in one long braid down to her waist and piercing green eyes the color of faded dollar bills that could stop a man cold in his tracks. Flora had also inherited her father's inordinately long fingers.

The young woman took to fashioning smaller, more innocuous everyday items that Leroy could distribute without arousing suspicion, such as bracelets, key chains, money clips and the like. The older man made bigger, more ornate knick knacks with larger chunks of the green rock—pieces that would look innocuous in an office or around an apartment. These items were then distributed to all of Uncle's employees in the hopes of warding off any unforeseen attacks by the Man of Steel; no one, from the street-runners to the dealers to the bean counters, was overlooked in Leroy's thorough dispersal of the Kryptonite.

Slowly but surely, a trickle of the noxious green rock began to make its way onto the streets of Metropolis' East Side Slums, ensuring the further protection of Uncle's drug empire.

* * *

_**Metropolis,**_** October 6, 2009, 12:33 pm. ** The killer appeared to be settling into a pattern—a new body was dumped every Monday and Friday morning, and the tally of victims jumped from seven to thirteen in the last three weeks alone. To those working the case—both police and press—it wasn't so much a question of _if_ another body would turn up but _when,_ and their efforts to stem the flow of blood in the streets were fruitless. The stress was beginning to take its toll on the journalists involved too, especially Clark, and Lois was acutely aware of that fact. She'd called Chloe the night before to arrange a lunch meeting specifically so they could take a moment to step back, breathe and discuss their own lives and NOT the case.

The two women sat opposite one another in a booth facing the street at Harold's Diner, a restaurant within walking distance of both their workplaces and a place where they could relax and catch up. Chloe sipped from her cup of coffee as Lois shrugged off her jacket and sank into the soft, leathery seat of the booth.

"So, how are things with you and Jim?" she asked, setting her purse on the seat beside her.

"They're good, really good—great even, if it weren't for this Ladykiller thing keeping him at the _Planet_ all the time lately. To tell you the truth, Lois, I haven't been in a relationship this loving AND functional in—well, forever! How sad is that?"

The brunette wrapped a slender hand around the water glass in front of her. "It's not sad at all; matter of fact, I know exactly what you mean. I was the same way before Clark came along…wait, actually I should rephrase that—before the _real _Clark came along," she said, winking conspiratorially, before taking a long sip of water.

"So you and Richard never really…?"

Lois shook her head. "Not like Clark and I do. We mesh in a way that I never thought was truly possible between two people, whereas Richard and I cared for one another but we mostly went through the motions and called it love. It took Clark coming along for me to realize that."

"So, how is the Big Guy?"

Lois rolled her eyes. "Don't even get me started—I thought we said we were going to try to make this a stress-free lunch?"

Chloe smirked knowingly. "That bad, huh?"

"It's just frustrating is what it is. I don't know how to help him! He feels so guilty for letting these killings go on as long as they have but it isn't even his fault! And what will all the overtime he's putting in at the _Planet_ working with Jim—not to mention the extra hours at his other job—the kids and I hardly see him anymore! I had to scream bloody murder just to get him to come home from patrol the other night; he thought a burglar had gotten into the apartment he was so scared, but I had to do it because it was the only way I could get his attention—he almost missed watching Haley sit up on her own for the very first time!

"You should have seen Clark's face when he first found out I was pregnant with her, Clo. He was ecstatic, not only because it meant that Jason would have a sibling, but because it meant he would be able to be here for all the milestones he missed with our son; and this killer is taking him away from all that and more! Plus he's tired and cranky all the time, and since I spend most nights tending the kids and waiting up for him _I'm _tired and cranky too. It's just so...so _exasperating_, running around in circles like hamsters on a wheel for the last month, and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight!"

"Can I take your order?" the plump waitress asked, sidling up to their booth with a pad of paper and pencil in hand.

"I think we're going to need another minute, thanks Doris," Chloe said, peering at the woman's nametag. She waited until the waitress left before continuing, "I'm sorry, Lois, I had no idea."

"No, I know you didn't and that's ok. It's just nice having somebody to talk to about this, you know? I'm not looking for an active solution, I just need a shoulder to lean on right now."

"I know." They studied one another for a moment basking in empathy, allowing Lois to regain her composure, before they picked up their menus and decided on lunch. Once Doris took their orders, Chloe piped up, trying to change the subject.

"I wasn't sure whether to attribute it to the stress at work or not, but Jim's been acting a little odd lately too."

"Odd? How so?" Lois asked, scrunching up her face in confusion.

"Well, it's like this— we both make a decent living and I suggested that maybe we should think about looking for a slightly larger place to live; possibly in the same neighborhood, maybe a two bedroom so his siblings could have a place to sleep if they came to visit. I want something with a more open floor plan so that, between us and all our stuff, we just aren't so cramped. The only problem is that every time I bring it up Jim just shoots the idea down. He won't even listen to my reasoning, he just cuts me off."

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

Chloe's mouth fell open in shock. "No! Absolutely not, we're very careful. Not to mention that if it did happen right now his mother would _kill me_; she's so strongly opposed to our living arrangement as it is and for me to get pregnant now...suffice it to say that no, I'm not pregnant. I just think that since this looks like a long term arrangement for the both of us that we might want to start thinking about giving ourselves a little more space to spread out. Am I asking too much?"

The waitress placed their meals before them and Chloe munched thoughtfully on her chicken salad sandwich as her friend added her two cents to the situation. "I don't think that's asking too much, not at all. And while I haven't noticed Jim acting strangely around the office, maybe the reason he's anxious and keeps putting you off on this apartment thing is because _he_ thinks you're pregnant?"

"We're usually really good at communicating these things, so I really hope not," Chloe replied, her fork in mid-air.

"Ok, well, since you've officially ruled pregnancy out, maybe he feels threatened or something…I mean you _know_ how territorial guys can be, and he's had that apartment for years! It's like how you twisted his arm into getting rid of that god-awful coffee table, only a hundred times worse because now it's the whole apartment that you want to toss aside."

She dropped her fork indignantly beside her plate. "I did NOT twist his arm! We had a discussion in which I merely pointed out to him that it was time for him to grow up and stop living like a college frat boy, that's all."

"Uh huh, a _discussion_; Clark and I had those too when we were merging our stuff, mostly about my couch."

"But I thought that was Clark's couch that you guys have now?"

Lois pointed her fork at her friend. "Exactly."

"Oh." Chloe felt her cheeks flush red with embarrassment.

"You know what I think? I think you should go home tonight and calmly explain that you two have simply outgrown the space—hopefully he'll agree with you."

"Hopefully," the blond woman replied wistfully, munching on her pickle while trying to think of ways to change the subject. "So, you said that Haley's learning how to sit up…?"

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**October 6, 2009, 12:33 pm. **Jim and Clark sat around Clark's desk, chowing down on burgers from the McDougall's around the corner and going over their notes on all thirteen of the victims. Manila folders and loose papers littered the space, making it so cluttered that Clark was fairly certain that if it weren't for his x-ray vision he wouldn't have even been able to find the keyboard to his computer.

"Do you have that credit card report for Ivan Rutter's AmEx card, Jim?" he asked, setting his burger down on its foil wrapper before sifting through the sheets balanced haphazardly on his lap.

The photographer wiped a smudge of ketchup off his face before rifling through his own paperwork. "Ummm, let me see, I think…oh wait, it's in my drawer, hold on a sec." He got up from his chair and jogged back to his own desk to retrieve the desired file.

"Ok." The tall reporter looked back at his burger again thoughts churning in his head. _I wonder if he has those employee records from 'The Watering Hole' and 'The Skellig' too, _he asked himself. Rather than yell across the bullpen, he rose quickly from his seat and followed after his friend. Jim stood by his desk, the drawer open and the file with the credit card report sitting on the edge of his workspace, while in his hands…

"Oh my God," Clark blurted out as he caught sight of the object in Jim's grasp. It was a small jeweler's box, opened, and inside was a sapphire engagement ring.

"AHHH!!" Jim practically leapt out of his skin and the box flew out of his hands before he caught and hastily closed it.

"Jim, was that…is it…are you…?" Clark couldn't even get a full question out, so flustered was he by what he'd just seen.

Jim turned to face his friend, the closed box clasped in both his hands and his cheeks flaming red. "I wanted her to be able to tell you herself, after I'd asked." He opened the box again and showed it to Clark so he could have a better look. It was a silver band with an oval shaped sapphire gem in the center, while the scrollwork on the band he recognized as the Irish Trinity design. "Chloe mentioned once how if she ever got engaged she wanted a non-traditional ring, plus we both have a bit of the Irish in us, so I thought she might like this."

"Wow." He was still so surprised that his friends' relationship had progressed to this point he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Aww, did widdle Jimmy finally pop the question to his pal Clarkie? Sorry to burst your bubble there, Jim-bo, but I feel it is my duty to remind you that Kent's already taken—and I'm pretty sure that Lois is all the woman he can handle," Ralph joked as he walked by the pair and saw the photographer holding the ring box out to his friend.

"Shut up!" both men shouted sharply at him as he passed. Ralph leapt nearly a mile into the air in surprise at the vehemence spat at him by the two most easy-going men at the Planet; he quickly scurried back to his desk, trying to making himself as unobtrusive as possible lest they further break character and come after him. Jim snapped the box shut once more and stuffed it back into the very bottom of his desk drawer.

"How long have you been planning this?"

The photographer shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't tell you exactly, because I've known she's the one for sometime now. I picked out the ring a week and a half ago, right after she started asking me to think about getting a bigger apartment; that sounded to me like she was committed to our relationship and that's how I knew that now was the time to pop the question. Of course, it's also meant that I've had to try and stall her on the apartment front because I figure we're going to want to use that extra money we've been saving on our rent for the wedding."

The shock ebbed away and he grabbed Jim's hand, pumping it vigorously in congratulations. "Oh man! I'm just…I'm…I'm in a state of shock, that's what I am!"

"Thanks Clark," he said with a wide smile. "One thing though; you have to _promise_ me you won't tell Lois about this. I want Chloe to be surprised, and by that I mean _truly_ surprised; I don't want her to see this coming at all."

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul. So, do you know when and how you're going to propose to her?"

A smirk crossed Jim's face as he recalled the plans he had in-store. "Yep, I do."

Clark eyed his friend a moment longer before asking, "You're not planning on telling me, are you?"

"Nope."

The tall reporter held his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright then, suit yourself, I won't pry any further and I wish you the best of luck; now come on, we better get back to work because this story isn't going to research itself…"

Jim picked up the file and turned to follow Clark back to his desk. "Right behind you. Wait, did you just wish me luck? You don't think I'll need it, do you?" Now it was his friend's turn to smirk knowingly while leaving the question unanswered.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**October 7, 2009. **Lois and Clark both yawned as they exited the elevator into the bullpen, having spent another restless night respectively waiting for a hero to come home and searching for a killer prowling about the city. She immediately dragged herself into the break room to grab a cup of Perry's piping hot sludge, while he continued on, trudging wearily to his desk. Lois poured the brew into the mug, desperately seeking a caffeine fix and longing for the days when her husband rose with the sun and had energy enough to zip off to some exotic locale for her morning cup of java, but she knew well enough not to ask for such a treat now when he was this bone tired. _The poor man is pushing himself to his limits working on this—I only wish he'd let himself rest more, or take a sun bath or something! If only there was some way I could help him! _She grabbed another mug out of the cupboard and fixed a cup for Clark as well, hoping that with his senses as worn down as they were that the caffeine might actually do him more good then usual. He glanced up at her appreciatively as she approached his desk and he took the mug from her hand, his fingers lightly grazing hers in gratitude, before returning his gaze to the computer screen and his email inbox.

Jim sauntered in fifteen minutes later, not quite as tired-looking as his friends but still noticeably tense and on-edge. Lois attributed it to the case at hand and not the situation at home; nevertheless, she wondered if her advice to Chloe had worked.

"Hey Jim," she said casually, trying to sound cheerier then she felt. "How are you doing?"

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not Clark had let anything slip. "I'm doing alright. And yourself?"

"Not bad; Haley's practically sleeping through the night now, so that's making things much better. So…anything interesting happen to you yesterday evening?"

"Not really. I did some laundry, had dinner with Chloe…" he replied nonchalantly.

Lois' ever-present curiosity began to shine through. "What'd you guys have?"

"Just some take out."

Her head snapped up at the innocuous words and her voice was low and level as she spoke next. "What did you say?"

"I said we had some take out," Jim repeated, taking care to enunciate the second time all the while eying her suspiciously. "Lois, what's going on?"

"Take out! That's it!" She reached out for her pad of paper and pen and dashed off to the conference room that they'd commandeered several days earlier. Turning back to look at the still-stunned photographer, Lois barked, "_Well_? Are you coming?" He trotted off after her, just as Clark looked up from his work in time to catch Lois beckoning to him as well. Abandoning his e-mails he followed her to the other room.

"I know how we can catch the killer, red-handed too!" Lois squealed with delight.

Jim turned to her, completely astonished. "You do? How?!"

"You gave me the idea, silly! A stake out! At O'Malley's! This Thursday night!"

"WHAT?!" the photographer yelped.

Clark chimed in. "Lois, now I know you've gone off the deep-end. First of all, this idea is incredibly risky and dangerous, and second of all, what makes you so sure that the killer is going to be at O'Malley's _this_ Thursday night?"

His comments only served to further rile her up. Lois strode over to her husband and poked her finger several times into his impenetrable chest. "Hey now! I may not have been on-board with the female serial killer angle, but at least I heard you out when you and Jim proposed it! Can't you at least extend me the same courtesy?!"

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you still haven't answered my question; what makes you so certain that the serial killer is going to be at O'Malley's this Thursday night?"

"Have a seat and I'll tell you." Both men did as they were told and sat on either side of her in rapt attention. "Right now, we and the police are running ourselves in circles with this ridiculous paper trail; credit card statements from the victims, employee lists from the bars, bar tabs from the deceased…the point is, we're getting nowhere…fast. We haven't been able to find anything connecting past or present employees to either of the four establishments where the victims have been taken, nor have we found anything in the murdered men's pasts that could link them together either, except for the fact that they liked chasing skirts. Basically all we have for our work is a model of a _type_ of guy this female serial killer goes for, and the fact that she prefers to grab men from O'Malley's above all other bars because seven of her victims were taken from there."

"You're right, but none of that means that she'll be at O'Malley's this Thursday," the photographer intervened.

"Jim, I'm willing to bet my entire paycheck that that's _exactly_ where she'll be because she's a creature of habit and none of her latest victims have been from there—she's due to strike, and this Thursday is rapidly approaching." Lois paused, leaning back in her seat triumphantly as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Well, what do you guys think?"

Clark sat forward in his seat, deep in concentration as he mulled over his wife's logic, all the while debating whether or not it was wise of them to proceed with her course of action. On the one hand he felt that it was too treacherous a situation for them to enter into alone, while on the other he thought about what might happen if the police got involved; he was invulnerable after all, or very nearly so, and if he ended up tangoing with the killer even under the guise of his mild-mannered persona then he'd come to no harm, unlike the members of Metropolis' finest should they dare to make a similar attempt. He also wanted to personally see an end brought to these killings and uncover exactly how the woman had been able to escape from him, and justice, for so long. "Alright," he replied slowly. "I'm in."

"You're what?!" Lois and Jim asked simultaneously, each apparently expecting him to put up much more resistance to the idea.

"Lois, might I have a word with you privately?"

Now it was her turn to be confused. "Sure," she replied, getting up from her seat and heading for the door. He followed right behind her and they stood just outside the conference room talking in low voices, out of earshot of their friend.

"I think the stake-out might be a good idea after all; this way none of the police officers are put at risk doing the undercover work and I can personally see that the killer is apprehended without her hurting anyone else in the process."

Lois scanned his face quizzically. "You're sure about this? I've got to admit, Clark, I thought it'd take a lot more convincing to get you on board. You sure there's no catch?"

"There's no catch, honest."

"Alright…" She turned on her heel and walked back into the conference room in time to catch Jim spinning in slow revolutions in his chair, just like Jason did when he was bored and stuck in the bullpen. "Well, now that I have Clark's vote, what do you say, Jim? You're just as involved in this as either of us; perhaps even more so considering that you were the one who figured out the killer was a woman."

"Well, I guess I'm ready to go undercover for the assignment."

The reporters' jaws both dropped to the floor in shock. "You WHAT?!"

Jim looked over at his friends without a trace of surprise at their reactions. "Y_ou_ weren't thinking of going undercover for this one, were you, CK?"

The taller man scoffed at his tone. "Actually, I was."

"No offense, but I just can't see you pulling it off, and of the three of us I think that leaves only me to be the bait. Think about it: first, you're married and it's clear as day that Lois is the only one for you, which means that even if we took the wedding band off your finger for the night any woman that tried to flirt with you would recognize that fact too and move on, whether she was the killer or not. Second, I'm a much better actor, and as much as I love Chloe—and I _do_ love her, make no mistake about it—I can at least pretend for a couple of hours that I'm a single, well-to-do business man and attract the killer's attention long enough for us to spring the trap. Third, and this is my final point, I'm the only other guy available for the job; that is, unless you want to throw Ralph into the fray so late in the game, but he'd likely piss his pants at the first sight of a suspect rather than help ensnare her."

"He has a point there, Clark," Lois pointed out, nodding her head and agreeing with him.

"I'm sorry, but might we have another word please?" he asked her, his voice terse as he started for the door without waiting for her to follow. The door barely shut behind the duo before Clark hissed, "What on Earth are you thinking, agreeing to let Jim hang out there like that?! What if something goes wrong?! At least we know that I'll turn out ok, hence why I'm willing to stick my neck out there, but I won't agree with putting Jim in harm's way like this!"

"Hey now! I'm not saying we send him off to the bar all by his lonesome and wait to see if he turns up dead in an alleyway the next day! We'd send him in there with you and me as back-up! You can wait and watch from another table inside the bar, ready to swoop in should anything go wrong, and I can wait in the car outside to follow him and his lady-friend should she somehow get him past you and out the front door. Not to mention that he's right about the acting part, at least when it comes to you pretending to be single—I keep you a very, happily married man and you can't forget that fact for three minutes let alone for three hours, it's written all over your face plain as day. You also have a _slight _wedding band tan which doesn't exactly scream out that you're a lady-killer; adulterer maybe, but we know that's not her type so it's unlikely our killer would approach you anyway."

He grimaced at her rationalizations, but had to concede that she and Jim were right once again. "Fine—but this doesn't mean that I like the idea," he told her, his hand already on the door handle and about to re-enter the room.

"Fine by me, so long as you agree to go along with it I don't really care what you think," she informed him point-blank, not bothering to sugar coat her position. "I miss having you at home at night and I'm ready for this to stop _now_."

Clark turned back with the door half-opened and caught his wife's chin in his hand, admiring her tenacity and snark by bringing her lips up to briefly meet his own. "I've missed being home."

Jim coughed and blushed, turning away to give them privacy during the tender moment and opting to twiddle his thumbs. The couple quickly re-joined him at the table. "So, what's next guys?"


	28. Chapter 28

_**East Side Slums, **_**April 19, 2001. **Leroy was feeling _very_ good—even with his 'insurance policies' in place these last few months he still hadn't had any trouble from the Big Blue Boy Scout and business was climbing back to pre-Superman heights very steadily. There was also the _Daily Planet_ headline that served to further his good humor; the Man of Steel had not been seen or heard from in the last two months.

Uncle chose to celebrate his thirty-fourth birthday in style.

* * *

_** East Side Slums, **_**September 11, 2001. **_Today terrorists executed the single largest attack on American soil in sixty years. People all over the country are mourning for what's been lost here, and it all happened on the thirteenth anniversary of my father's death. God has a sick sense of irony; half the world shares in my misery on this wretched day but not in my grief._

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**October 23, 2001, 11:29 pm. **A portly man in his late forties stepped out of his car and surveyed his dingy surroundings with a proprietary air.

He knew that the Batman's reach did not extend far beyond the Gotham City limits. He knew that the Man of Steel was gone; that he had been MIA for a number of months and, given the previous month's attack in New York City, it didn't look likely that he'd ever return. He also knew that the dockyards along the waterfront in the Metropolis Slums were prime real estate for drug smuggling and were currently controlled by a man known only as 'Uncle', who was alleged to be a bit on the young side.

He _thought_ that the East Side Slums were ripe for the taking.

Hector Caro thought wrong.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**October 27, 2001. **"Excuse me, Uncle?" Jacob asked hesitantly upon entering the spacious office; Leroy looked up at his right hand man nonchalantly. "It's been confirmed; Hector Caro is in Metropolis and right now we know that he's taken over the old Buffalo Furniture building on the border of the East Side and Downtown. Our intelligence is too unreliable at this point to say whether or not he's in the building right now, but we do know that it's his base of operations now that he's no longer working out of Gotham; his entire organization just up and left, and it looks as though they have no intention of returning."

Uncle ground his teeth together viciously at the news then swiveled around in his chair so his back was now to his associate. "I warned Marcel about this," he snarled in a low voice.

"Sir?"

"And now Caro thinks _I'm_ the weak one."

The young man tried again. "I'm afraid I'm not following you…"

"Gather everyone together, Jacob; it's only a matter of time."

"A matter of time before what, Uncle?"

Leroy turned back around in his seat and leveled his gaze at his employee, a cold, calculating look on his face and an ominous tone in his voice. "Before war."

* * *

_**O'Malley's Pub, **_**October 8, 2009, 9:38 pm. **Jim arrived at the bar at a relatively early hour and smoothed his hands over the front of his rented Italian suit nervously as he slipped in through the door. He caught Clark's eye as he spotted his tall friend sitting at a tiny table just beside the entrance; the other man nodded, then quickly avoided his gaze so it would appear that Jim had arrived alone and knew no one. Sidling up to the edge of the bar, the young man took a seat and ordered a soda water.

The cover story was one the three of them had worked on and perfected all day; it was simple, plausible and clean. His name was James Olmstead, a marketing salesman spending a night out on the town because he'd just sealed a deal with a big client. He was single, had few friends and even fewer family members, and nobody was expecting him back at work until Monday morning because they'd given him Friday off for a job well done—in short, he was the seemingly perfect target for the Ladykiller Killer.

The only flaw the trio found to their whole plan was that Jim might actually pick up a woman who was genuinely interested in him—someone who _wasn't_ out to kill anyone but who was searching for Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now—and then he'd have to break it off. Truth be told, that was the only part of the overall scheme that Jim felt remotely nervous about; he wasn't afraid of being picked up by a knife-wielding serial killer, but by a pretty young girl from down the block looking for a boyfriend. Lois thought his apprehension was comical—almost as comical as the sight of him in the expensive, rented suit—and that he was over-estimating his prowess, but the young photographer was a sensitive man who would never set out to intentionally hurt anyone; the thought that things might get messy between him and a young woman in a crowded bar made him extremely uncomfortable.

* * *

Clark's level of discomfort only grew after his unexpected visit from Chloe earlier on that afternoon. Jim had waited until the last possible second to tell her of their scheme, informing her of his intentions over the phone while on his lunch break. She ambushed her friends at work after that and only reluctantly agreed to let Jim go along with their plan _after_ a lengthy, private conversation with her super-charged friend.

"Are you guys out of your frickin' minds?!" she yelled at Clark from the top of the _Daily Planet_ building where she'd dragged him. She knew that of the formidable _Daily Planet_ foursome—Perry, Lois, Clark and Jim—that he was the reasonable one and would be more likely to _listen _to her once she got him away from his influential Editor and his wife. It especially irked her that Perry White, of all people, had gone ahead and agreed to the plan without batting an eye—Jim told her that he even offered to cover all the necessary expenses so long as the _Planet_ stopped the killer before anyone got hurt _and_ got the scoop. "You, the man who's invulnerable to EVERYTHING, is going to sit back and play casual observer while my very _MORTAL_ boyfriend puts his life on the line?! You have _got_ to be kidding me!! Tell me this is all a really, _really_ bad joke, please."

"It's not a joke, Clo; but hear me out for one second, will you?! I wasn't originally on-board with Jim going undercover either, but he and Lois talked me around. Apparently, I can act well enough when it comes to being a bumbling stooge in the bullpen, but when it comes to the part of the single man living the high life I just haven't got the chops. The way the two of them tell it, I wouldn't be able to pick up any woman, let alone the killer, even if I wanted too—it's just not in my skill set. AND, as Jim also wisely pointed out, he's the only other guy involved in this investigation who can be trusted for the job, so he _has_ to do it."

"No, I won't allow it, I'm not going to let him risk _HIS_ life for one of _YOUR_ stories!" she adamantly shouted.

"It isn't as if we're sending him out there all by himself!" he retorted, reminding himself eerily of Lois in the process. "I'm going to be right there keeping an eye on him and I'm better, stronger and faster then any bodyguard you could hire, not to mention that Lois will be waiting and watching outside and we've both got Al Henrickson on speed dial should anything go wrong! Besides, we don't even know with any particular certainty that the killer is going to be at _this_ bar _tonight_—but in the event that she is, we have ALL the angles covered; Jim won't get hurt, I promise."

She turned away from him indignantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pouting. The puttering drone of the rotating globe resounded above their heads as Chloe silently brooded over her friend's words. "I still don't like it," she said, turning sharply on her heel to face him once more.

"I don't either, but if Jim wants to do this and if it means taking down this killer once and for all, then I'm going to let him play his part in the whole affair."

Chloe nodded, the concern written plainly on her face, and she headed back to the stairwell and the bullpen without uttering another word or protest.

Clark now sat at his table, opportunely angled so that he had an unimpeded view of the entire bar, and he kept an ear on Jim while scanning the faces of the women in the establishment. By his estimate, there were thirty-nine people in there so far, twenty of which were women, and seeing as how it was 'Thirsty Thursday' and the night was still young he expected it to get much, much busier. _Apparently, no one's paid much heed to the warnings in all the papers—why would the owner even advertise discounted drinks on Thursday evening of all evenings?_ he mused as he looked around the room. Clark also kept an eye peeled for the baubles, pins and jewels the women wore in their hair, closely watching to see if anyone kept their tresses pulled back in a gem-studded elastic band. So far he, Lois and Jim were 0 for 2 in their hunt for the serial killer.

* * *

**10:17 pm. **He'd chatted up a few of the women at the bar in the short time that he'd been there, but to no avail. Not only were they not his type personally, but none of them even remotely put off the vibe that they were capable of killing a man, let alone thirteen—they also didn't appear to be on the prowl for another victim. One older woman went so far as to proposition Jim shortly after he fed her his tale; he quickly and politely declined the offer and resumed drinking his soda water to try and regain his composure.

A quick glance at Clark and another nod in return led him to proceed with 'Phase 2' of the plan and order a bottle of beer. Jim's tolerance for the brew was average, if not slightly higher then most, but he decided to feign a less-than-sober state before he was halfway through with the beverage in order to appear more vulnerable should the killer be patrolling the room. The bar was getting more crowded by the minute and Jim stepped up his cover act accordingly in order to successfully draw out the killer.

* * *

Clark had to hand it to his friend; Jim wasn't ready for Broadway by any means, but he was pulling the part off well enough to get the job done. _Flirting with four women in one hour—I didn't even think Jim knew he could do that! Must be some kind of record for him,_ he thought, smiling in amusement as the waitress brought him another soda and took away the empty glass. The photographer was currently chatting up a perky, bright-eyed, strawberry blonde who was easily a decade younger then he was; Clark x-rayed her wallet just to satisfy himself and discovered that he wasn't too far off the mark—her name was Tiffany and she was twenty-two years old compared to Jim's thirty-four. He caught his friend's eye just then and very subtly shook his head; neither man suspected her of being the killer and Jim politely ended his conversation with her and moved on.

He winced when a large explosion, followed by a loud, metallic, wrenching sound drew his attention away from the bar and to a point beyond the West Coast. The shouts of several seamen reached him too, and he quickly ascertained that an oil tanker was going down 400 miles off the coast of Baja California. Oil was leaking into the ocean and a fire raged below deck, trapping several of the crew while those above deck jumped into the merciless sea. _Help will never make it in time…_Clark's eyes darted around the room as he weighed his options. Jim appeared to be by himself at the moment, sipping slowly from his beer at the bar, with no new prospects forthcoming. _I can be at the wreck in two minutes, put out the fire, assess the damage—hopefully get the ship back upright so I can tow her and the crew to safety—and be back here in fifteen minutes, twenty tops._ He chanced a second look at his friend. _There's no way she can get in here and grab him in fifteen minutes._

There was a scuffle in the back corner of the bar, drawing the attention of the majority of it's patrons as well as that of the undercover _Daily Planet_ photographer; Clark saw his chance and took the opportunity to duck out the back entrance. As he sped off across the continent to assist the distressed oil tanker, he sent up a silent prayer that Jim would be safe until he got back; he felt guilty for leaving in the first place, but it wasn't in his nature to ignore so many people in need, especially when the situation was as dire as this one. Clark was also secure in the knowledge that their friend had been left in Lois' very capable hands as she sat in her sedan on the street, watching the front door of O'Malley's like a hawk.

* * *

_That's odd, _Jim mused as he turned back around in his seat, setting the empty beer bottle down on the bar and registering his friend's absence for the first time. _I wonder where Clark went? _He surreptitiously glanced around the room as the two men causing the disturbance were forcibly led outside; absently, he noted the large influx of people fighting the outgoing bouncers as they tried to come in._ He must've gone to the bathroom—I don't blame him with all that soda he's been._ A young woman leaned into the counter beside him just then, catching his attention as she ordered a beer from the bartender. She wore dark jeans and a deep red halter-top under her black leather jacket, while her long, raven hair hung unadorned and straight down her back. Her pale complexion was flawless, causing the lipstick matching her shirt to stand out in stark contrast to the rest of her features and drawing Jim's attention unabashedly to her full, luscious lips. _Better turn on my 'A game',_ he thought, swiveling in his stool to fully face her.

"Why hello, Beautiful. You know, Prince Charming called here a minute ago, he was wondering where his Snow White had run off to."

"Ha!" she laughed, playing along with him, "Well, you can tell him she's here at O'Malley's, chatting up a handsome stranger." She stuck out a hand. "My name's Theresa, and you are…?"

He took her nimble hand in his. "I'm James, James Olmstead."

"Nice to meet you. So, what brings you to O'Malley's? I don't think I've seen you around before."

"Well, I usually don't get out much, but tonight I'm celebrating."

"Oh?" Theresa asked, batting her dark eyelashes at him prettily. "And what exactly are you celebrating?" She turned and leaned in a little closer to better hear him over the din.

"I sealed the deal on a big account with the Stop and Save chain; now they're going to use our company exclusively for all their marketing needs, which means we've nabbed practically the entire East coast!" he replied exuberantly, trying too hard to pass the lie off as a truth. Realizing his mistake, he held his hand up next to his mouth and added in what he hoped was a loud, inebriated whisper, "Plus, it means a nice commission bonus for me!"

She narrowed her eyes a little before instantly smiling again. "Well congratulations!" Theresa looked around the bar. "Who else is here with you?"

Jim gestured around at the other patrons. "Everyone and no one, I'm afraid. I work a lot, so I don't have many friends outside the office, and, sadly, I'm still single." He held up his ring finger and wagged it freely in front of her face.

"I see." She motioned to the barkeep for another bottle. The man popped the cap off for her, leaving it on the bar before tending to the rest of the crowd. Theresa fished around in the pocket of her jacket with her right hand, while she used her left to brace herself against Jim's shoulder as she leaned in to whisper, "Well then this drink's on me. Congratulations again."

"Th-thank you," the young man spluttered, breaking character slightly as he accepted the bottle from the tall woman. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," she replied less than enthusiastically as she watched him take a long drawn-out sip.

* * *

**10:35 pm. **"Damn!" Lois cried aloud softly from the front seat of her car. She looked over at the two empty coffee cups beside her and cursed again. _I don't know which my bladder hates more; pregnancy or coffee_, she wondered, crossing her legs tightly while keeping her eyes riveted to the front entrance of the bar.

She'd parked her little four door in front of the all-night diner to the right of O'Malley's after dropping Clark off shortly before 9 to scope the place out. Lois scrutinized every woman as they walked in and out of the front door, wondering if she was staring at the serial killer and hoping that that question would be answered sooner rather than later. Ever since Jim stepped into the bar, she'd found herself growing incrementally more worried for Jim and Clark as the time passed. Now, an hour and a half later, she was beginning to regret suggesting such a venture in the first place.

Her bladder pulsed again, and Lois knew she'd have to relieve herself and _fast_. Turning off the radio and pulling the keys out of the ignition, she grabbed her purse and ran around the front of the car into the diner, dashing all the way through to the restroom located in the back and out of sight.

Four minutes later, she exited the tiny restaurant with yet _another _cup of coffee in hand and returned to her car to watch and wait.

* * *

**10:34 pm. **He'd only taken three swigs of the beer Theresa had bought him and already Jim was beginning to feel light-headed; that, and the metallic taste growing in the back of his mouth weren't helping to make him feel any better. The room started to spin, something it hadn't done since his hard drinking days at the Ace several years ago, and he cut off the young woman beside him in mid-sentence as he doubled over in his chair, a hand clutched over his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

Theresa caught him by the shoulders with both hands, bracing him there before he fell off the stool. "Whoa! Easy there, James, steady as she goes!"

At the sight of all the commotion at the end of the bar, the bartender came over and quickly recognizing that his patron had had one too many, spoke up. "I better call him a cab and get him home."

She held up a hand while still easily supporting Jim's slumped form. "No, no, it's alright, I'll help him." Turning her attention back to her friend, she threw one of his arms around her neck and helped him unsteadily onto his feet. "Ready to get out of here?" she asked tenderly, guiding him toward the front door.

"I…Kent…" he said in labored gasps, struggling to catch sight of his friend. A group of four twenty-somethings were now crowded around the same spot where Clark had been, and the man in question was nowhere to be seen.

"Of course you can!" Theresa replied cheerily. "My car is just around the corner…oh, why thank you!" she exclaimed as a man near the entryway held the door open for them.

Jim leaned into Theresa for support, stumbling in a zig-zag pattern as she urged him down the sidewalk away from the bar and diner where Lois' car sat parked. He was in no condition to help himself as she led him around the corner and out of sight of his friends. "Come on, my van's right over here," she nudged him along, pointing to the gray vehicle parked mid-way down the street.

"Van?" he asked, clutching his head with his free hand. His thoughts were muddled and hazy; _Van…van important…why?...Killer! Killer uses van!_ They were almost to the passenger door when Jim put the jumbled pieces of information together. "NO!" He shoved Theresa as hard as he could into the side of the vehicle, then turned to run in the opposite direction and get away. His wobbly legs had other ideas, however, and he only made it a step away before he found himself kissing the pavement.

* * *

Theresa picked her way over to him carefully, knowing that the GHB she'd slipped in his drink was now working to its full effect. Her latest prey wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and she was enjoying watching him flail about like a fish out of water—she hadn't had this much fun since Ivan, the music executive who'd given her a run for her money a month earlier; he'd struggled so much she'd had to break his nose.

"This way, James," she murmured ever-so-sweetly as she straddled his form and brought him back to his feet again. Theresa roughly shoved him into the back of the van, slamming the door shut before making her way unobtrusively over to the driver's side. She turned looked over her shoulder at his unconscious form sprawled out amongst her equipment before turning her key in the ignition. "You and I are going for a little ride."

* * *

**10:40 pm. **Clark re-entered the bar from the back, wiping the last of the oil off his hands and grimacing at the smell of seaweed that clung to his damp hair. The place had filled up quite a bit in the twenty-five or so minutes that he'd been gone, and his table was now overrun with young, drunk, twenty-somethings who were having a very good time. He smiled a tight smile, glad that they were enjoying themselves safely while wishing he still had his earlier vantage point, before he remembered to look around for Jim. The spot at the bar where the young man had been sitting earlier was now taken by a plump woman in her early forties, who sat sipping a Cosmopolitan while chatting with her husband who stood nearby.

His heart skipped a beat in his chest. _Where's Jim? _A quick trip to the men's room proved fruitless. Clark lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose and carefully scanned the area to confirm that his friend was no longer in the bar. _No, he's definitely not here; I've got to get to Lois, something must have happened, she must be following them_. He strained his ears above the din inside and singled out her heartbeat, discovering that it was uncharacteristically close by; another quick x-ray showed that she was sitting outside O'Malley's in her car, sipping on a cup of coffee while humming softly to the radio. As swiftly as he could, he made his way to her side.

* * *

The loud rap at her window startled Lois so badly she nearly upset her piping hot beverage, but once she saw it was Clark she hastily rolled down the glass. "Well, do you think he's got her?" she asked, breathless with anticipation.

His face went ashen as the realization washed over him. "More like she's got him," he murmured through clenched teeth.

"She's got him? She's got _him_?! How could you let this happen, you were supposed to be watching him! How could she sneak him right by you!!" He held a hand up to quiet her panic attack as he listened for Jim's voice. It was uncharacteristically silenced.

Returning his attention to Lois, he replied, "I had to rush off to an oil tanker spill, Lois—and before you say anything, hundreds of lives were in danger, so yes, I had to go! When I left he was all alone; I didn't think that she could pick him up and get him out of there in twenty-five minutes!" He pulled at his hair and paced frantically next to the car. "Wait a minute, how come _you_ didn't see him as he left?!"

She bristled at his tone and got all defensive. "Because he _OBVIOUSLY_ didn't leave by the front door, _Clark_; I've been watching it the whole time!!" she retorted, angry and scared for her friend. He watched as her face suddenly fell. "Oh shit!"

"What? What is it?!"

"I got out to use the bathroom and get a cup of coffee—I couldn't have been gone for more then three or four minutes. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!"

Clark reached into the car and grabbed hold of her shoulder. "We're going to find him, I promise you, we're going to find him and he's going to be ok. Now when did you go on your bathroom break?"

She wiped away the tears that threatened in her eyes. "Less than five minutes ago, why?"

Without a word, Clark spun into the suit, momentarily forgetting the very public setting he was in. "I'm going to search for the van; hopefully we'll get lucky and the killer will be using the same one she used to dump Francis McGowan. I need you to call Chloe and tell her to open up a window for me, because if I can't find him quickly enough then I'll be dropping in on her and I need her to be prepared. Whatever you do don't give her any cause for worry just yet though, ok? Not that she's prone to panic, but I need her to hold it together and help me when I arrive. When you're done on the phone I want you to search West and South of the City and be my eyes and ears on the ground—and don't forget to call Al."

Lois nodded and whipped out her cell phone, hitting the speed dial button as her eyes misted over, blurring the dashboard before her. Clark didn't waste any more time as he leapt up into the air, hovering near the tops of the buildings while frantically scanning the streets surrounding the bar in search of a gray van with an 'H' in its license plate.

* * *

**A/N:** GHB is also commonly known as the 'date rape drug'. It dissolves easily in a drink and renders people temporarily unconscious when administered.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** There are just a few profanities in this chapter, but they're all in character--I hope you trust me enough by now to realize that. Bye!!

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**November 9, 2002. **Hector Caro's rap sheet gave Leroy Russell a basis for his attack. It included an extensive list of known associates, past assaults, misdemeanors and arrests, as well as a fairly current mug shot. With this information at his disposal, Uncle quickly learned that the Gotham drug lord was a man from the old-school; it was his style to hit first, hit hard and sort everything out only _after_ he'd taken power.

What Caro didn't realize was that his enemy, although younger in years, was far superior in intellect; however, the other drug lord presumed that—because of Uncle's approximate age—he was not well-versed in the ways of war, and he chose to exploit that supposed weakness for all it was worth.

The first year of the war was bloodier than either side had ever imagined. About a month after he'd entered Metropolis, Hector Caro was the first to strike, targeting five of Uncle's small corner gangs simultaneously, killing all save for three men. It was a blow to Leroy for sure, but not a crippling blow, and with the intelligence he'd been able to gather on his enemy he was able to strike back with just as much force, eliminating eleven of Caro's men in the blink of an eye on a Saturday afternoon two weeks later. After that time there hadn't been a week that went by in the Slums without the drawing of weapons and the shedding of blood, no matter whether it was that of a drug dealer or an innocent civilian, and the on-going warfare served to terrorize and further impoverish the neighborhood.

Both masterminds behind the bloody territory battle remained elusive; Hector Caro because he was constantly on the move and Uncle because only a select number of people knew what he looked like and even fewer knew his true identity.

Hector Caro was rapidly losing his patience with each passing month. "How am I supposed to fight a fucking _GHOST_?!"

* * *

_**Border of the East Side Slums, **_**October 8, 2009, 11:10 pm.** Jim came into consciousness lying on his back on a hard table, his head pounding. Groggily, he tried to raise his right hand to rub his throbbing forehead, only to find it extended out beside him and shackled to the table by the wrist; craning his head to the left he found his other arm similarly pinned down. Next, the young man tucked his chin to his chest and discovered that his ankles were also bound, and that his dress shirt and suit jacket were hung neatly on the back of a chair in the corner of the room, leaving his chest exposed under the bright white light which acted like a bucket of cold water on his woozy brain.

"**HELP!! SOMEBODY, PLEASE, HELP ME!!**" he shouted, struggling against his bonds and writhing back and forth on the table. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he screamed himself hoarse, realizing the full extent of the danger he was in.

"You _really_ should have paid more attention to me back at O'Malley's, James," a voice called out sweetly from behind his head. A muffled thump alerted Jim to the closing of a door, probably covered in the same thick insulation that swathed the rest of the room. From his peripheral vision, he could see that Theresa was pushing a metallic cart in front of her; he also noted that she wore the same outfit she had on earlier at the bar, minus her black leather jacket, indicating that he hadn't been unconscious for very long. "But instead you were too busy trying to impress me. I work in an electronics store during the day, selling and installing sound systems—which means that I know how to sound-proof a room. Scream all you like, no one will ever hear you down here, not even Metropolis' very own cape-clad hero—at least, he hasn't heard anyone _yet_." She ran a cold finger along his pale, exposed collarbone as she spoke the last words, giving him goosebumps as he strained to get out from under her grip.

"What did you put in my drink?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

She answered with a flippant wave of her hand. "Just a little GHB—men prefer to use it to lure poor, defenseless women into their beds. Maybe you know it as the date rape drug? But don't worry, I didn't rape you—it's not my style. I have something _much_ more fun in mind."

Jim stared at the stainless-steel tray beside him, the whites of his eyes visible as he strained to see what lay hidden beneath the cloth; cold fear suddenly stole over him, leaving him covered with a light sheen of sweat . Theresa maneuvered behind him to readjust the table, and he soon found himself more upright, allowing him a better view of the room. The walls and ceiling were covered in large, gray, padded sound-proof blocks while a bright white, surgical light shone down on them from overhead. _Oh my God I'm going to die down here… _He struggled against his bonds once again, "**HELP!! HELP ME, SOMEBODY, PLEASE!!**"

"Good—I like it when you playboys have a little fight in you," the madwoman sneered, returning to the tray and carefully pulling back the cloth. She bared before him an assortment of knives, screws and sticks, the likes of which made Jim's eyes go wide as he shuddered in terror and unknowingly held his breath. He'd never seen anything like the assortment of tools placed in front of him, nor did he want to stick around to see how they were to be used. Theresa calmly pulled a hair elastic adorned with blue jewels out of her pocket and tied her long, black hair back, then slowly slid on a pair of latex surgical gloves, watching him jump as she snapped the cuffs on her wrists.

Jim turned his head to face her, his brown eyes searching her features and imploring her to forgive him and let him go. "Theresa, please, this isn't what you think," he begged.

"It's EXACTLY what I think!" she snapped, screaming right in his face while flecks of spittle landed on his smooth cheeks. "You and your type are all alike! You flaunt your success in other people's faces, flirt with pretty girls and pretend to be interested in them just so you can get them into bed with you, then you dump them when you've used them all up! I've seen it time after time and I'm sick of it, I'M SO FUCKING SICK OF IT!!" The rage flickered in her eyes and she growled at him as she spoke, turning and grabbing a knife off the tray. It fit perfectly in her grip and had a 4" curved blade that eerily mimicked a raptor's claw. She drew it up to his chest, leaning over him slightly to reach his heart, preparing to make her first cut.

"M-my name is really James Olsen, not James Olmstead!! M-my friends call me Jim or Jimmy! I work as a photographer and research assistant at the _Daily Planet_, and I have a girlfriend _who I plan on marrying_ waiting at home for me!!" He blurted out in a panic, trying anything to stop her from carving him up like a slab of meat.

Theresa halted where she stood poised over him, the tip of her blade resting perilously close to his skin as she debated the merit of his words. Her eyes narrowed into dark, menacing slits. "You're lying…"

"It's true, it's all true, I swear—j-just check my inside jacket pocket, you'll see my press badge and driver's license and everything, they're right there!" Jim craned his neck to where the jacket hung, urging her to verify his story.

She walked over to the jacket and pulled out the contents of his pockets. Besides a money clip, there was a sheet of paper with notes on his cover story, his driver's license and his press badge, all as he'd said. Theresa took the objects and flung them at him; he flinched at the sheer force as the items bounced off his stomach and chest and hit the floor. "Why were you at O'Malley's tonight?!" she asked, slowly working herself into a frenzy. "Why did you lie to me?! WHY?! AND **DON'T** FEED ME ANYMORE BULL SHIT OR I'LL…"

Jim cowered in the face of her wrath and tried to raise his hands up in surrender, momentarily forgetting that they were clamped down. "I won't, I swear, I won't lie again! We were just trying to flush you out and I was the one to go undercover to do it!"

Theresa raised an eyebrow as her curiosity got the better of her. "We?"

"My friends at the _Planet_—Clark Kent and Lois Lane-Kent—we were the ones trying to find you! The cops weren't even involved!"

"You mean those two lousy reporters who've been writing those, those…_vicious_ articles about me?! They've made me out to be some sort of _cretin_ when all I've been doing is a service to humanity by getting rid of the garbage!!" she cried, spewing her delusional take on the situation at him and brandishing the knife dangerously.

"You're right, you're absolutely right! They had the story all wrong, they just don't get you! But after meeting you I know I do and I can let them know how off-base they were about everything…"

Her face softened as he spoke and she flashed him a sinister smile; when she spoke her tone was dripping in sarcasm. "You think you got me all figured out there, huh pretty boy? And what? Next you're going to say that if I just let you go, you'll tell your little reporter friends how wrong they were about me, and how you'll make them print a retraction in your precious paper on my behalf, not to mention that you'll forget all about calling the cops? I'm a brunette, _Jim_, not a blond—I'm not stupid!"

"No, you're right, you're not!" he said, ready and willing to agree with whatever she said, so long as it kept her talking and bought him more time to live.

Theresa took a deep breath and shifted the knife a little in her hand. "I'm glad you told me the truth, though; it's not nice telling lies and as you can see I _hate_ being lied to, but I'm glad you didn't keep up the façade in the end. My only regret is that I'm still going to have to kill you and your girlfriend just might be the one to find your body tomorrow morning, which I'm sure will break her poor little heart…"

She cackled wickedly while he grimaced; the thought of Chloe walking past the alleyway next to their building and catching sight of his lifeless form propped up against the wall, his brown eyes staring at her without seeing, with an ugly X carved over his heart made him want to wail in despair. While her guest was distracted, Theresa pulled a cell phone from her back pocket, glanced quickly at the screen and put it back, re-gripping the knife in her right hand. "Do you know what time it is, Jim?"

He swallowed down the lump in his throat as she closed the gap between them. "N-n-no, no I don't. What time is it?"

"It's time to let me have my fun…"

* * *

**10:48 pm. **_Where's the van? Where's the van? Where's the van? Where's the van? Where's the van? _Clark kept repeating this mantra in his head as he hovered over the Metropolis streets frantically searching for his friend and, while he knew there was the slightest of slight possibilities that Jim had left the bar of his own accord with a random girl, he knew in his gut that that just wasn't true. _He loves Chloe; he wants to marry her for crying out loud, he wouldn't do that to her! _Another quick scan of the street revealed the same menagerie of automobiles, but no large vans. _I'm not finding anything, and this isn't helping Jim—I need to face Chloe and find something to help me locate him, fast!_

* * *

She stood just inside the window in her pajamas, pacing back and forth nervously, arms crossed protectively in front of her chest. Clark's sudden appearance in her living room—and in his red, yellow and blue suit no less—caused her to jump in surprise and spin around. "Where is he—where's Jim?! Just tell me where he is!! I know something's wrong but just tell me he's alright!"

He ignored her pleas. "I need to know what cologne he was wearing tonight. Do you know what it was?"

Chloe narrowed her eyes at him and didn't budge, her tone deathly serious. "_WHERE IS HE, CLARK?!_"

Her friend hung his dark head briefly and when next he looked up his blue eyes were swimming with remorse. "We lost him, Clo. I had to run to the West Coast to help an oil tanker and Lois slipped away briefly to use the bathroom—somehow the killer nabbed him in those few overlapping minutes and now he's gone."

She let out a half-strangled sob and her whole body trembled in fear and shock as she stood resolutely on the spot, resisting the urge to panic. Although the words hadn't been said, she knew that with the Ladykiller serial killer, time was of the essence if they wanted to find Jim alive. "The…the cologne…it's in the medicine cabinet…top shelf, two bottles on the left." Clark retrieved the bottles and blew back into the room in an instant, holding them out before her.

"Ok, now which one did he wear tonight?"

Her blond tresses quivered as she shook her head. "He wore them both," she said between hiccups. "It's a weird l-little thing he does. He wears them both."

Clark nodded solemnly and opened both bottles, taking a whiff as the scents blended together, then prepared to take out through the very same window. "Find him, Clark, and don't you _DARE_ come back here until you do!" All he could do was nod again and then he was gone; she stood alone in the middle of the room, forcing herself to breathe. Racing to the bedroom a split second later, she grabbed the nearest clothes she could find and threw them on, grabbing her cell phone and dialing Lois' number as she dashed out onto the street to search for Jim.

* * *

He returned to O'Malley's and stood just outside the front door, upwind of the smokers. Clark knew that finding Jim alive depended exclusively on him and his abilities, but while his sense of smell was generally superior to humans, it wasn't one of his so-called "super" abilities. He'd never been forced to rely solely upon his olfactory senses before and he feared that it might not be enough to help find Jim in time. Pulling the bottles of cologne from his belt, he took another whiff of the pungent aroma and closed his eyes, praying that the last and only recourse available to him would be the one that worked.

His head swiveled sharply to his left. The aroma was strong, and he sped down the sidewalk and around the corner following it. A small concentration clung to the cement—the same spot where Jim had fallen not ten minutes earlier—and then it moved to the edge of the street before almost disappearing. _The van, this is where she parked the van and took Jim away. Ok, ok, I'll find him, I know I can find him, _Clark reassured himself, stepping out into the street. While traffic was moderate at that hour of the night, the Man of Steel still had to watch his step or risk causing a wreck should a car collide head-on with his dense frame.

The scent of Jim's cologne had diminished some since he was being transported in the van, which meant that Clark had to stick close to the ground in order to follow the trail. He ran down the double yellow lines, inhaling deeply to ensure that he was on the right path. So focused was he on his task that he nearly missed hearing his cell phone ring.

He flipped the device open without even looking. "Please tell me you have something, Clark, please! I've been driving around for the last fifteen minutes and there hasn't been a single gray van in sight, not a single one!"

"I might be onto something," he replied hastily, trying to shield the presence of the cell phone from view of the confused motor vehicle passengers as he whizzed by. "I got his colognes from Chloe and I'm tracking him by scent; it's unusual, I know, but it's working. Currently I'm running down Third Avenue and I'm about to turn onto…" he paused, taking a deep whiff of the air around, "Wellsville, I'm turning onto Wellsville right now."

"It sounds like you're headed to the East Side. I'm going to turn around and grab Chloe, call me when you catch up to them."

"Will do," he answered, ready to hang up the phone and focus solely on the task at hand.

"And Clark?"

"Yes?"

"Hurry."

_As if I need to be reminded,_ he thought to himself, slipping the phone back into his belt alongside the bottles of cologne; picking up speed ever so slightly, he rushed down the street, breathing like a fish out of water in order to stay on the trail left by Jim's pungent scent.

* * *

**11:15 pm.** Clark hung up the phone once again and stared up at the house before him. He'd lost the trail twice but found it again in a manner of minutes, and he now stood before a dilapidated, two-story, wooden home nestled in amongst two brick business buildings a block away from the 'official' border of the East Side Slums. He'd called Lois to give her the address.

Superman sped up the front steps of the house and put his shoulder to the door, smashing his way in, only to discover that all was dark and quiet before him, as if the house had been abandoned. He paused in the entryway, straining his ears for any sound, but all he heard was the scurrying of scared mice in the attic and nothing more. A quick scan of the upper level revealed three bedrooms, all empty, and an equally quick check of the main floor showed that it too was vacant. _Oh God, don't tell me I'm too late_, he thought as he turned his gaze to the basement level.

Although Clark still couldn't hear anything, he saw movement below his feet. One of the occupants appeared to be bound to a slab, while the second was leaning over the shackled figure with a knife in its hands.

"JIMMY!" he shouted, speeding off down the stairs and into the basement.

* * *

Apparently, Theresa had found the spot where she wanted to make the first incision on Jim's chest; it was right next to a small, faded pock mark he'd had ever since he'd contracted Chicken Pox at the age of six. He'd scratched that little devil off night and day for three days straight and had a permanent reminder of it etched into his skin for all eternity…_And now my last scar is about to join it_, he realized, sucking in his breath sharply as she drew the knife closer to his skin. Jim winced and kept his eyes shut as the cold steel connected with his torso, turning his head away and straining to move his body out from under her grip as she proceeded with the incision.

"**ARGGGGHHHHHH!!**"

The pain was unbearable and what made it worse was that he knew this was only the beginning, that he'd be begging for death by the end. Using every inch of his being, he struggled against the chains lashing him to the table; Theresa's blade delved deeper and deeper into his chest, slicing through the skin and muscle tissue like butter. A loud boom sounded from over his right shoulder, followed by the sudden cessation of Theresa's cutting. The knife went clattering to the concrete floor and Jim opened his watery, blood-shot eyes carefully to determine whether or not this was part of her torturous dance or if he'd truly been rescued.

* * *

The young photographer was panting heavily and blood poured forth from the slanted, two-inch long mark the killer had made, trickling freely down his chest like its own little river when Superman finally discovered him. Jim's captor struggled against the Man of Steel's iron-clad grip with her hands twisted behind her back, while the knife lay harmlessly upon the floor, it's blade warped from having come in contact with his impenetrable palm.

"S-super…Su…Superman…you…found me…" Jim uttered in-between gasps.

Clark attempted to flash his friend a small, tight, reassuring grin, but the sight of the incision and of Jim in so much pain—pain that he'd helped cause—disconcerted him greatly and he allowed his stoic veneer to take over. "And not a minute too soon, I might add. Excuse me one moment, if you will." The Man of Steel exited the room, propelling the serial killer forward and keeping her away from her prey until he found a suitable means of binding her to the chair in the basement. Once he was assured that she was capable of doing nothing more than hurling harsh curses at the pair of them, Clark returned to his friend and gently released Jim from his bonds.

He slid gingerly off the table once the restraints were undone and tried to wipe the blood off his chest with his bare hands, succeeding only in spreading it further around like so much paint on his torso. "T-thank you for finding me," Jim said as he attempted to walk out of the room with Superman at his side. His knees were trembling so hard he could barely take a full step under his own power, and the Man of Steel caught his arm as he slipped, supporting the weight of the petrified photographer while they moved toward the stairwell. "I d-didn't think you'd h-hear me with all the sound-proofing in t-there."

"I didn't. You have your friends and your girlfriend to thank for my finding you so promptly—that and your own proclivity for wearing two colognes. As soon as Lois alerted me to the fact that you were missing, I went to your apartment to find what you were wearing and was able to follow your scent from O'Malley's. I wasn't even certain that I was in the right house until a moment ago when I x-rayed the floorboards and saw her…"

"Theresa. Her name is Theresa Russo," Jim replied, his breath coming more evenly now that he knew he was safe.

"I'll be sure to inform the authorities of that when they arrive," Superman said as they reached the top of the stairwell.

They were but a few steps from the front door when Jim shrugged off the help. "I can manage it from here." The young man shuffled toward the door with slow and deliberate steps, his eyes focused on the knob as blue and red lights began filling the street outside. Flinging it open, he immediately put a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright searchlight that shone in his face; the noise of the cars and the helicopter hovering overhead served to further discombobulate the traumatized young man.

"FREEZE!"

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

"PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

Superman sped in front of him, shielding him from any potential gunfire as he knew the police were more than likely a little trigger-happy at potentially nabbing the notorious Metropolis serial killer. "HE'S THE VICTIM!" he shouted, his deep voice booming over the ruckus down below.

Jim peered out from around the side of Superman's broad blue torso and saw at least eight squad cars, one fire engine and an ambulance crowding the street; as was to be expected, Lois' Saab was in the thick of things too.

"JIMMY!!" a different female voice cried out, cutting above the din and reaching his ears. He watched as Chloe broke away from the police guarding the area without a care for her own safety and bounded up the steps. Stepping out fully from behind the Man of Steel, he stood waiting to catch her with open arms.

She buried her head in his shoulder, oblivious to the blood he was covered in and glad to see him safe. "I was so afraid I'd lost you," she murmured amidst her frantic sobs.

His eyes were brimming with tears as he held her tight. "I'm right here," he whispered back soothingly, stroking her hair and accidentally streaking it red with the blood on his hands. "Shh, shh, shh, it's alright, I'm right here, it's all over now. I'll always come back to you, Chloe. Always." She pulled back and leaned up for a kiss just as the cops swarmed the porch, entering the house and following Superman to where the killer had been subdued; that's when she became aware of his wound.

"Oh my God, Jim, you're bleeding!" she gasped as she saw the blood all over his chest that had now transferred itself to her sweatshirt. "MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC OVER HERE!!" Chloe turned on her heel, screaming at the top of her lungs while flagging down an EMT.

He tried to brush her off. "Really, I'm fine, let's just go home and clean this out there…" but one of the paramedics was already before them, shining a flashlight at the almost two inch long slanting gash that had been carved into his chest.

"Sir, I'm afraid this wound is going to require stitches," the EMT said. "If you'll follow me over to the back of the bus…"

Jim cut him off. "No, I am NOT going to the hospital, I absolutely refuse, I HATE hospitals…"

"Listen to the man for crying out loud! You're hurt and you need medical attention, and if he says you're going to the hospital then you're going to the hospital, end of story!" Chloe argued with him, never once letting go of his hand; her hold on him was so fierce that her knuckles were beginning to turn white, yet she refused to let him go.

He knew her brave front was being put up primarily for his benefit, so to alleviate her fears he followed the medic to the back of the ambulance so the man could better clean and treat his wound. Lois came around just then and wrapped her arms around him, giving her courageous friend a quick kiss on the cheek.

She stepped back to take a good look at him. "You gave us quite a scare there, Jim, you know that?" Lois teased quietly, still greatly frightened by his brush with death.

He shrugged his shoulders and let out a half-hearted laugh. "Ahh, well, it wouldn't be a Lane-Kent investigation without a little drama and at least one of us putting our lives in mortal peril, now would it?"

She attempted to laugh with him but couldn't under Chloe's ominous gaze. Lois laid a hand on his shoulder while the EMT continued his work; Jim grimaced as a local anesthetic was administered. "No I suppose not. Listen, Clark and I are so sorry we let this happen. He said he was taking care of something in the back of the bar and I slipped out to use the restroom around the same time and we just didn't know; somehow that's when the killer got a hold of you and got you out of O'Malley's without our knowledge. We are so, so sorry, Jim; you have no idea how badly we both feel."

Jim winced as the stitching commenced. "What's important is that you guys found me in time, that's all." He turned his attention away from the two women beside him and scanned the throbbing crowd gathering on the sidewalks. "Speaking of which, where is Clark?"

"He hopped in a cab and went looking for you in West Metropolis, trying to find the van while I headed East after picking up Chloe. We just followed the sirens here under the assumption that Superman had found you and that they were coming in to back him up. Clark should be along shortly—after all, I did call him as soon as we got here…"

"OLSEN!" Perry yelled out as soon as he stepped out of the cab, his voice reaching the trio long before they saw him. The older man strode right up to the police barrier and began arguing with the young officer barring his entrance. Lieutenant Henrickson arrived on the scene at the same moment, flagging the officer off and lifting up the yellow tape so that the Editor-in-Chief could pass on through. "Are you alright, Son?! I was worried sick when Lois called and told me the news!"

He smiled weakly at his boss as the medic tied off the last of his stitches. "I'm ok, Chief—a little worse for wear, but otherwise ok."

"Thank God!" the man cried out, plopping himself down in the open space next to his photographer and dragging his handkerchief across his face, mopping his sweaty countenance. "I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost one of my best photographers…"

"One of your best?" Jim asked slyly, smiling a little wider as the EMT taped a gauze bandage to his chest and stepped away to give the group a bit more privacy.

"Well, you know…your work isn't _that _bad, Olsen, all things considered. That is, what I mean to say…"

Jim clasped a hand on the old man's shoulder. "I know, and don't worry, Chief—you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Good, good, glad we got that all straightened away…now where the devil is Kent? Lois, I want you two to book it back to the _Planet_ to write up this story as soon as you squeeze whatever information you can out of the police here. I've already stopped the presses to re-print the cover; we're leading with 'Ladykiller Killer Nabbed with Help from _Planet_" with a mention of a special second edition that'll run with the full article. I want you two to get right to work on it so we can stay ahead of the _Messenger_—bring the kiddies in with you if you have to or I'll pay for the babysitter to spend the night with them at your place—just do whatever you have to do to make sure that article is on my desk as soon as possible."

Lois nodded in assent as Perry turned his attention back to his photographer and the photographer's girlfriend. "And you, I don't want to see you around the _Planet_ for at _least_ the weekend, if not longer, and most certainly not tomorrow. If I even hear that you set one _foot_ in that building, then so help me God, I'll pair you up with Ralph Cooper for the next month and a half, and I know how much you'd love that." Jim grimaced at the mention of his least favorite reporter on the floor while his boss continued. "Take all the time you need and don't come back to work until you're ready; if Lois or Clark need any quotes from you they're to call you or come see you, not the other way around, you understand? And Miss, I expect you to make sure that he listens to me on this one."

"Yes Sir," she readily replied, giving him a smart salute.

"Remind me again why you're working for the 'Metropolan' and aren't on my staff? Lois, you could learn a thing or two from her…"

Before Lois could let loose a tirade upon poor Perry, Chloe interjected. "You couldn't afford to keep me on your staff, Sir, that's why I don't work for you."

Perry looked completely affronted while the three younger people just howled with laughter. "Oh I couldn't, could I? Forget that, Kent, I don't want you to pick up anything from her…" he muttered, causing them to laugh even harder.

A yellow cab pulled up to the scene just then and a tall, clumsy man dashed from the backseat, pushing his glasses up his nose as he made his way to the barrier and flashed his press pass. "Jimmy, are you ok there, Buddy? I got here as soon as I could, I was all the way on the other side of town you see and…"

"Yeah CK, I'm fine, I'm fine," the younger man replied in-between bursts of laughter. Lois quietly studied her husband's solemn face as he stood in the circle of friends at the back of the ambulance, but he was far from ready to join them in their mirth. So serious was his expression in fact that, if it weren't for his glasses and his stoop-shouldered stance, she feared that the jig would be up with Jimmy and Perry right then and there.

A split second before they heard the noise, he had turned his head toward the house. Everyone watched as several officers re-emerged with the struggling woman in tow. Theresa Russo, also known as The Ladykiller Killer, was being restrained by four officers while her hands remained firmly cuffed behind her back. She was aware of her Miranda Rights and yet she chose to waive them, cursing and shouting at the top of her lungs about the injustices she'd suffered at the hands of men, even the ones who were now hauling her off into police custody for the murders of thirteen people. The officers had gotten her to the street and to a waiting squad car when she caught sight of Jim sitting in the midst of his friends, Chloe wrapping a blanket around his bare shoulders.

"I should've gutted you," she sneered, her black beady eyes boring into him. "I should've gutted you and tossed you out like the common trash you are...and saved her the trouble," Theresa finished, jerking her head in the blond woman's direction.

* * *

The five of them stood there, stunned by her venomous words; they were even more taken aback when Chloe relinquished her hold on Jim for the first time since he stepped out of the house. With long, purposeful strides, she closed the distance between herself and Jim's would-be killer, delivering a heavy-handed slap across her pale white cheek. "Don't you ever, _EVER_, say that about _my__ Jim_ ever again!! Why you little bit—" but the police thrust Theresa into the backseat before Chloe could finish her diatribe. They drove off to the nearest station with the murderous woman in tow, fully-prepared to lock her up and throw away the key.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **Greetings all. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I just learned that the franchise with which I have built my series of Superman fics upon is being **_re-booted_**. Needless to say I am NOT a happy camper about this, and I urge all my fellow Superman fans to get the word out to the WB that this is NOT what we want to have happen. For more information on how to get in touch with the studio execs and pull a Jericho-style "NUTS" campaign, I suggest you visit brandonrouthDOTcom and bluetightsDOTnet; they'll have all the latest info as this situation unfolds.

And now on with the story.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**December 31, 2004.** If the first year of war was a battle for territory and control, then the second and third years were a battle of wills. Uncle refused to give up his region as it was reclaimed piece by tiny piece and Caro refused to flee the field after being beaten back time and again by his unseen foe.

Leroy's product was coming in regularly, but it wasn't moving. The suburban addicts and the slick city men and women who needed a fix weren't willing to risk their necks traveling into the Slums when all the local headlines publicly declared that section of the City a war zone. To further compound matters, Uncle wasn't willing to compromise and move his people out of their comfort zone and into the Downtown areas where they were more likely to arouse suspicion; he knew that profit margins would suffer due to the decision, however, it also meant that he and his men would remain off police radar, and that would be important once they achieved victory.

Uncle and Caro may not have been turning much of a profit during this period but that didn't prevent them from remaining locked in constant—and expensive—combat.

It was a never-ending game of tug-of-war that showed no signs of ever slowing down.

* * *

_**Star of the Sea Church Cemetery, **_**April 14, 2006. **Hector Caro's last act in the four year battle for control over drug-running in the Slums was to kill Anthony Pollen in a drive-by shooting which took place on a Saturday afternoon as he was out playing basketball with his friends. Two of them also took bullets, one to the shoulder and one in the calf, while the others on the court escaped unscathed; Anthony was the only fatality. He was twenty-nine years old with a wife, two children, and a third baby on the way.

Of course, Caro's men didn't know how close to home they'd struck when they mowed down Leroy Russell's eldest nephew in broad daylight. For them it was just another routine border scuffle, the likes of which they'd been having for the last several years—ever since it had been discovered that Superman was really gone and their boss had decided that Metropolis' seedy underbelly was perfect for the taking. But in his haste to escape ensnarement by 'The Bat', Hector Caro underestimated his opponent's tenacity. He'd overlooked how one young man with a genius IQ and a will of iron could refuse to succumb to his powerful brawn, and how this one death out of the hundreds of others in the last four years could release the flood gates of hell upon him.

Jacob slipped into his boss' office just minutes after the shooting to deliver the bad news. He'd known Leroy for several years and he felt he knew him well enough, but the deep, guttural, anguished cry his employer let loose after learning of his nephew's death shook him to his very core. He moved off to the corner of the office without uttering another word, becoming one with the furniture as he watched the man behind the desk age ten years in as many seconds. Once Leroy controlled his grief, he looked up and locked eyes with his assistant, fixing him a cold and steely glare, before calling upon anyone and everyone within their organization who was old enough to wield a gun to meet on the floor of the warehouse.

"**This ends tonight.**"

Lois Lane wrote about the ensuing blood bath in an article for the _Daily Planet_ edition that came out the day of Anthony Pollen's funeral. She described for her readers how the old Buffalo furniture building on the border of the Slums looked as if it had been reduced to Swiss cheese, while the inside resembled a slaughterhouse that made even the most hardened of policemen's stomachs churn. At least forty-five bodies had been found inside, along with one pointer finger; DNA testing confirmed it had belonged to Hector Caro, the notorious Gotham drug lord. The rest of his body was never recovered, and everyone involved in the investigation assumed he was dead; _After a blood-bath like that_, the authorities reasoned, _how could anyone not be_?

Leroy ignored the world as he stood on the hill at the Star of the Sea Church Cemetery, watching his nephew's body being lowered into the ground. He didn't dare join his grieving mother and sisters below as he knew they blamed him for Anthony's death, just as he blamed himself. He stood there, a pillar of black lingering beneath a lone, blossoming maple tree, watching until long after everyone shuffled away to resume their lives. _This wasn't the life I wanted for you_, he mused as he pulled his dark overcoat tighter around himself to ward off the approaching chill. _I wanted better for you; YOU wanted better for yourself, and you'd succeeded too, working as a carpenter and providing for your family. _He looked down at the freshly formed mound of dirt in the plot next to Aaron Russell's grave. _You were taken from us far too soon—you both were._

He wallowed alone on the hillside overlooking his nephew's grave until the night sky shone above him, and the cool April air drove him to seek shelter.

* * *

_**Metropolis,**_** October 9, 2009, 12:45 pm. **Jim slipped out from under Chloe's arm, which she'd flung protectively over him sometime in the night, and stretched out like a cat. The relief was short-lived however, as the stretching tugged at the stitches in his chest and he dropped his left arm quickly to relieve the pain.

The previous evening had been a long one. After the EMT cleaned Jim up, he and Chloe were escorted to Police Headquarters to answer the detectives' questions and to identify Theresa Russo as the woman who had drugged and attempted to murder him. They weren't finished with the authorities until close to 3 am and, as they were about to head home they met Clark pacing in the hallway, notepad in hand, waiting for them with a look of apprehension.

"J-Jim, I'm sorry to bother you, I know you want to get home and all, but the Chief wants me and Lois to write the article for the special edition, and…"

Chloe stepped between her boyfriend and her best friend, placing her palm in the middle of the latter's chest and glaring at him ever so slightly. "_Clark_, now is not the time or place for him to be working." If Jim didn't know any better he'd say that she was almost _blaming_ the tall reporter for everything that had transpired earlier in the evening, but he knew that wasn't the case and that his friend was only trying to do his job.

"No, it's ok—might as well get it all out now while it's still fresh in my head, you know?"

The young couple finally filed into their apartment around 4 in the morning, and Jim immediately caught sight of the robe and pajamas that she'd flung to the floor in her haste to join Lois in the search. "Come on, tell the truth now—you weren't really all that worried about me, were you? I bet that if it weren't for Lois coming to pick you up, you'd still be sitting on the couch eating bon-bons."

She'd chuckled meekly at his attempt at humor, but he could tell that Chloe was tired and still too preoccupied by his near-brush with death to find the teasing truly funny. "Since when have you ever seen me eating bon-bons?" she'd retorted, taking him gently by the hand and leading him back to their bedroom for some much needed rest. He'd pulled back from her and reached out to pick up the cordless phone instead.

"I need to call my mother and let her know I'm alright before she reads about this in the morning papers," he'd said by way of explanation.

"You think waking her up at 4:08 in the morning isn't going to cause her some anxiety too? Come to bed, Jim, and call her when you're rested."

"Chloe, you've met my Mom—now which do you think is worse: waking her up at 4 am with this news or having her wake us up at her usual 7 and getting hysterical over learning from CNM cable news that her own son was nearly killed by a psychopath?"

"Ok, ok, I see your point. I'm going to bed though, so do your best not to keep me waiting too long; I might start to worry about you again—or break out the bon-bons."

He'd chuckled at her sass before lifting the tips of her fingers to his lips, grazing them lightly with a kiss. "You know I won't if I can help it." He'd crawled into bed some twenty minutes later and she'd instinctively curled up into him, wrapping her arms around him tenderly while making sure to keep away from his throbbing wound.

Now that he was awake, he carefully slid out from under the covers and threw on his robe before making his way to the kitchen as quietly as possible to set up the coffee machine. As he waited for the liquid to brew, he checked his voicemail box which seemed to have grown exponentially overnight. The first ten were all from his mother and siblings trying to reassure themselves that he was truly alright; he made a mental note to call each of them back later on that afternoon. The next batch were from concerned colleagues and friends, some of whom he hadn't seen or heard from in months or years even, calling to check on his well-being after seeing the story on the news or reading about it in the papers. In an odd way, hearing their voices made Jim perk up and feel better; he hadn't known that so many people cared about him outside of his own small, tight-knit circle of family and friends. The second-to-last message was from Perry, thanking him for his cooperation with Lois and Clark's article while reminding him to take as much time off as he needed, and to call him directly if he there was anything he could get for him while he was on leave.

The final message was from the Biltmore Restaurant, confirming his 8 o'clock reservation for two that evening. Jim had made it shortly before Clark caught him with the engagement ring at work, a day which seemed like forever ago, but was actually only forty-eight hours earlier.

"Jim?" Chloe asked softly, placing a hand gingerly on his good shoulder. With lightning fast reflexes he deleted the message and hung up the phone, turning around to face her.

"Chloe! I, uh, I didn't hear you get up!"

"Well the bed felt cold without you so I thought I'd come and investigate. Is everything ok?" She extended a mug of warm coffee to him while glancing down at the phone.

"What's that? Yeah, everything's fine, just family and friends calling to check in on me, nothing important; I'll call them all back later," he replied nonchalantly, taking the mug in both hands and sitting down at the table.

"Nothing important?! You were almost killed last night!"

"I know, you're right, I'm just trying not to dwell on how close I came to meeting my maker."

She nodded in understanding, asking softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his coffee, avoiding her gaze. "Not really."

"Ok then—but whenever you're ready, remember that I'm here."

Jim stared back at her gratefully. "Thanks." She got up from the table to go rummage in the kitchen for something to eat, when he spoke up again. "I love you."

Smiling at him playfully from over her shoulder, she replied, "I love you too."

"No really, Chloe, _I love you_." He paused, taking a deep breath, and the seriousness of his tone brought her back by his side once more. "Last night, when I thought I was going to die—all I wanted was one more chance to tell you that I love you. I need you to know, now and everyday, how much I love you and need you in my life." He grabbed her and pulled her close to him and she hiccupped into his chest, blinking back the tears which came so easily at his words. Kissing the top of her head, he added, "I don't ever want there to be a day that goes by where we don't say that to one another. Not only do I want you to feel it, I want you to hear it and know it too."

She turned to look up at him with a red nose and damp green eyes. "Oh I do, I do! And I love you too, more then I could ever put into words! It killed me to think that my last words to you before you left were, 'Don't be a hero, Jim, and at least _think_ about getting a bigger apartment!'—you hear that, it _killed_ me! I don't care about the apartment at all, all I want is you and me, safe and snug and happy here in our place because we're together, and that's all that matters."

Jim smiled. "And here I was thinking that I was the only one confronting death last night," he quipped before turning serious once more. "But you're absolutely right, you and me together, that is all that matters."

* * *

He'd finally convinced her that they both needed to shower and do _something_ besides curl up into one another on the couch all day; while she was occupied he took the opportunity to pull up Lois and Clark's article on-line as well as call one of the story's authors.

"_Daily Planet_, Clark Kent," the man answered the phone with noticeably less cheer than usual.

"CK, it's me!" he hurriedly whispered, covering his mouth with his hands.

"JIM!" Clark squeaked. "Are you alright?! What's going on? Is everything ok, do you need anything?"

Jim smiled at his friend's concern, knowing how genuine it was. "Yeah, I'm fine, everything is _ok_. I just need a small favor from you, that's all."

"Name it. I owe you from last night, after all…"

The photographer held up a hand out of habit, forgetting that his friend couldn't see the silencing gesture. "Stop it. I'm _alright_, Clark, so forget about it. Besides, it was you and Lois who got Superman's attention and helped him track me down, so I'd say we're pretty much even."

"Whatever you say," his tone still very disheartened despite his friend's reassurance. "So, what did you need my help with?"

"Do you remember the _thing_ I had in my desk drawer earlier this week?" His eyes darted furtively around the room and he spoke quietly, as if half-expecting Chloe to jump out of the shower and pounce on him.

"What thing?"

"You know, the _thing!_"

"Hmm? OH! _The thing!!_ Y-Yeah, sure I do, I remember!"

"Well it's still there at work and, since I don't know how much longer my luck is going to hold out and I _don't_ want Perry catching me in the bullpen and making good on his threat, I thought that maybe you might be able to bring it over here for me. Do you think you'll be able to sneak away from work for that long?"

"S-sure, it won't be a problem; I can be there in about ten minutes if that works for you."

Jim glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes? Clark, it usually takes me at least twice that to get from work to my place."

"Right, of course, twenty minutes, n-not a problem."

"Thanks man—you're a real life-saver." He hung up the phone at that and quickly resumed his internet search, clicking on the _Daily Planet's _virtual headlines until the story pertaining to the Ladykiller Killer loaded up.

According to the article written by Lois and Clark, it appeared that Theresa's troubles began when her relationship with a man named Dominic Campanella ended abruptly about twelve months ago. She had detailed in her journal how she'd met the investment banker at O'Malley's Pub a year and a half earlier after stopping in for a drink with some friends. Things quickly became hot and heavy but all that ended, however, when he discovered exactly what section of Metropolis she hailed from. Dominic dumped her like a hot potato for being, as she claimed in her diary, "Nothing more then a money-sucking, ghetto rat." From what Jim's friends were able to glean about "Dom" Campanella in the course of their pre-dawn investigation was that he'd gotten a promotion at work around the same time that he'd broken Theresa's heart; he'd moved to Gotham City shortly thereafter, while leaving her none the wiser as to his whereabouts.

To make matters worse, within a month of their break-up Karen Russo, Theresa's mother was diagnosed with stage IV kidney cancer.

The article helped explain a lot to Jim about her ensuing behavior; she'd returned to the bar where she'd met Dominic, hoping to find him there, when she met Keith Balsam instead. He came from a similar background and had a similar personality to Dom and that information, combined with the stress of her recent break-up and her mother's diagnosis caused something inside of Theresa to snap. Keith's murder was purely opportunistic and she chose to, "Sign it with an X because of the way Dom ripped my heart out of my chest," she informed police during her confession. When she saw what she had done she pulled out his wallet and dumped his body near his home and as far away from her as possible; not out of remorse as was suspected, but in an attempt to divert suspicion away from the area in which she lived.

At first there had been very little press surrounding the killings but what publicity she did gain aided by the cathartic rush of taking a "worthless" man's life, made Theresa want even more "justice". Her plans for going serial quickly began to take shape, as she took to sound-proofing the basement room and gathering the equipment necessary for robbing the womanizing men of Metropolis of their lives. She knew it was only a matter of time before she'd come down from the high, and the old house she shared with her mother proved to be only too perfect a staging ground for her devious endeavors.

The killings stopped when Mrs. Russo took a turn for the worse and was nearing the end of her life, requiring full-time care that only her daughter and a hospice nurse could provide; they began again with renewed vigor a week after the sick woman's suffering finally came to an end.

Jim scanned the rest of the article quickly, learning how she'd kept a box full of 'trophies'—driver's licenses from most of the men she'd killed—on the top shelf of her bedroom closet. The piece also hinted at the possibility of her being mentally ill, citing that as a potential cause for her gruesomely violent actions, but he knew better then that. He'd been right in the thick of crazy before, and while Theresa Russo was off her rocker for killing thirteen people without remorse, she clearly knew that what she was doing was wrong and yet showed no signs of repentance during the act itself. _The heartbreak is what did it to her,_ he lamented quietly, drawing the conclusion just as the bathroom door opened down the hall. He hastily closed out the article and opened a game of solitaire so Chloe wouldn't catch sight of what he'd been reading; she'd been doing her best all day to keep the mood light and cheery and he didn't want her to know that he'd been undermining her efforts by learning more about his would-be killer.

Chloe sauntered down the hall, wearing nothing but her purple bath robe while her damp hair hung limply about her shoulders, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug from behind. He took a deep whiff of her lavender shampoo as she snuggled against him and smiled.

"MMMmmm, you smell nice…."

She sniffed audibly. "I wish I could say the same for you, Mister."

"Hey!" He spun in his chair to face her as she grinned cheekily. "That's not fair! I _guess _I'll just have to go see if you left any hot water for me so I can get clean too."

"Too bad you didn't think of that five minutes ago or you could've joined me."

He rose from his seat without further prompting and made for the bathroom before she swatted him playfully on the butt. Whipping around, he arched an eyebrow at her invitingly. "Oh no, I'm not joining you; I've already had my bath and besides, I'm all prune-y as it is."

"Suit yourself." Jim shrugged his shoulders in defeat and walked into the bathroom alone.

* * *

Chloe lazed about on the sofa in her robe and heard the hot water turn on at the same moment that someone rapped loudly at the door. Glancing through the peep hole, she saw Clark look her straight in the eye, looking shocked as if he hadn't been expecting her to answer. She flung the door open.

"Hi."

"Hello."

They stood there uncomfortably for several seconds during which she noticed him surreptitiously trying to hide something behind his back. "May I, uh, that is, may I come in?"

She stared at him hard, trying to guess at his motives and figuring that he'd hid his notepad, she responded. "That depends; are you here in an official or unofficial capacity?"

Clark grimaced, his voice slipping almost imperceptibly into its normal tone. "I'm here as a friend, Chloe; yours _and _Jim's."

Stepping back into the apartment, she opened her arm wide in a mocking, welcome gesture. "Make yourself at home then," she huffed.

They seated themselves on opposite ends of the sofa, Chloe with her robe wrapped around her, not bothering to change, and Clark in his ill-fitting suit, fiddling with his glasses which were now in his hands. Whatever it was that he had hidden behind his back was no longer in sight, so she decided not to call him on it.

The silence between the two old friends was awkward and deafening, until Jim punctured it by singing to himself in the shower.

"FLY ME TO THE MOON, AND LET ME PLAY AMONG THE STARS! LET ME SEE WHAT SPRING IS LIKE ON JUPITER AND MARS. IN OTHER WORDS…" Hearing his happy voice made Clark chuckle while Chloe rose from her seat to inform Jim that they had a visitor so he wouldn't continue singing out of tune.

She settled herself back down again on the couch and stared at him, her green eyes piercing in their intensity.

"He nearly got killed last night because of you…"

"You think I don't know that!" Clark cried out, leaping up indignantly from his seat and pacing. "You think that I don't feel so incredibly guilty about abandoning one of my best friends in the entire world for a hunk of metal that had caught fire in the Pacific?! Well I do! I feel so badly for letting everything get so out of hand last night and I don't know how to ever make it up to him—and what's worse is that he doesn't even know that it was all my fault to begin with!!" He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly and continued pacing before the couch under her watchful gaze; when he finally sat back down again he hung his head in his strong hands, his deep voice strangled as he continued speaking. "But I have to remind myself that people would've died needlessly if I hadn't shown up when I did. Chloe, as much as I want to, I can't pick and choose who I save and who I don't; sometimes I think Jor-el was right when he warned me to keep my distance, to live as a 'normal' man without forming too strong an attachment to a certain few over the larger group."

She had quietly watched him struggle with his guilt from the other side of the sofa and felt sorry for him until he made mention of his biological father. They'd had a few discussions in the past about the artificial intelligence up north and Chloe didn't think much of the man who'd sired her best friend, even if he had been wise enough to launch him off into her galaxy. "Don't you _dare_ think like that, Clark Kent!" she cried out, her anger boiling over. "Jor-el was right when he told you to be an example to mankind, but he was dead wrong when he told you to live apart from us! If you had then my life, your parent's lives, Lois' life, Jim's life, Perry's life—we'd all be the worse off for not knowing you, not to mention that Jason and Haley wouldn't even exist without you! We all love you so very much!" He looked up into her face at the vehemence and feeling she'd put into her speech and she paused, getting lost momentarily in his clear, blue gaze. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that but I'm still so shaken up over everything that's happened; I guess that sometimes I forget that, even with all your gifts, you're still just as fallible as the rest of us."

"That may be, but Clo, last night was still my fault…"

"No, I am _not_ letting you go there. I had planned to lay this whole, big guilt trip on you the next time I saw you, but now that I see how much you're already beating yourself up over it I've come to realize that we both need to just let it go. Jim's alright, the killer's in jail, the seamen are safe…" She trailed off and leaned over to give him a forgiving hug and he sank into her embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered as if a huge, guilty weight had been lifted from his broad shoulders.

She smiled at him as they parted, hearing Jim's bare footsteps padding down the hall. They turned in time to see the photographer throw an old t-shirt on over his head, but not before giving the reporter a good look at the large waterproof bandage plastered over the stitches holding together his two inch slash.

"Hey, Clark, good to see you buddy!" Jim called out a little _too_ cheerily, even for him.

"You too! Nice to see you up and about," Clark added, sounding a bit nervous, as if he were playing along with Jim.

Chloe eyed them both suspiciously as they stood there, obviously wanting to talk about something but not in her presence. She sighed; while her curiosity was truly piqued at their strange behavior, she had a headache. Figuring that she'd get to the bottom of it eventually, she responded, "I'll just go get changed then."

"Ok."

"Sounds like a plan, Clo."

"Ok…" With one final glance over her shoulder at the pair of them she strode down the hall and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

Jim wasted no time. "Did you get into my desk drawer ok?"

"Uh yeah, no problem, it just took me a couple minutes to find it—how many protein bars do you have in there anyway?"

"Oh, you know, enough," he said casually as he took the ring box out of Clark's hands, opening it up to re-examine the jewel as if reassuring himself it was still there.

"Yeah, enough to feed a small army." They stood facing each other and peering into the box. "So, I take it you're popping the question tonight then, huh?"

"That was the original plan."

He started at Jim's tone. "Does that mean that you've changed your mind?"

"What?" the photographer looked up suddenly from the ring and into his friend's face. "No!! I mean, I haven't changed my mind, just maybe changing tactics a little, that's all."

Clark clasped a hand on his friend's good shoulder. "Well I won't stay and get in the way. Good luck."

"Thanks Clark!" Jim called out as his buddy showed himself to the door.

* * *

**6:35 pm. **"Honey, what do you say we get dressed up and go out for dinner tonight?" he asked, peering down into Chloe's face where she lay with her head in his lap and her legs stretched out on the sofa, each of them reading a book.

She tilted her head back and looked at him upside down. "Hmmm? You want to go out tonight? After everything that's happened?"

"Sure! What's better than a little ambiance and a good meal? Maybe at the Biltmore?"

Chloe looked at him dubiously for a moment then shook her head. "I'd rather stay in tonight if that's alright with you," she replied matter-of-factly, snuggling deeper into his lap and returning to her novel.

He sighed and went back to his own book; an hour and forty-five minutes later their reservation at the Biltmore lapsed.

* * *

**8:15 pm. **Chloe emerged from the bathroom and wandered back toward the living room where they'd been spending the better part of the day, expecting to find Jim where she'd left him sitting on the couch; instead, he was standing by the doorway with his jacket and shoes on, holding her coat out for her.

"Come on, let's go for a walk."

She glanced out the window and back at the sofa as a whine rose up in her throat. "Do we _have_ to? It's cold outside…"

"Yes, we do," he said semi-forcefully, shaking the jacket in his hands for added emphasis. "You've kept me cooped up in here all day and I need to stretch my legs, so let's go."

"Alright."

They wandered up and down streets and avenues for over forty-five minutes with no particular plan, wending their way through the city without paying too much notice to where they were going until they passed in front of the Ottman Hotel. Chloe glanced up the steps and into the lobby with interest, recalling her first date with Jim and how it had ended with several good night kisses just a few feet away from where they now stood. "Wow, we must be pretty far from home."

"Yep, we are, but come on, I want to go just a little bit further," he replied, trudging forward while her arm was still linked in his. After meandering quietly down a few more blocks, he stopped suddenly in his tracks and turned to face her. "Do you know where we are?"

She stopped and gawked at him in confusion before scrutinizing her surroundings. There was a shoe repair business on one side that was closed for the evening, as well as a locksmith, a dry cleaning shop and to their left, an alleyway. "Wait a minute—weren't we almost mugged here back in February?"

"Yes we were. But there's another reason why I brought you here tonight."

"Oh and why's that? You want to play hero again?" she retorted brazenly.

Jim dropped down to one knee without warning, pulling the ring box out of his pocket and opening it up before her as she stood in shock on the sidewalk. "Chloe Sullivan, I knew from the very first moment of our date at O'Malley's that I was in love, but I didn't truly know how deep that love could go until later. I knew that you were a smart and beautiful woman, but until that man came after us I had no idea how strong and brave you were too.

"I've wanted to ask you this question for awhile now, and the events of last night only served to make me want to ask you sooner. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me? Please?"

Chloe stared open mouthed at Jim, then at the ring in his hands and back again, completely speechless. Several times she attempted to speak, only to find so many happy emotions overwhelming her all at once that they had rendered her temporarily mute. Jim never broke eye contact with her, opting simply to hold his breath and plead for a satisfying answer from her with his eyes. She started nodding her head, slowly at first, then more vigorously as an ever-widening grin broke out on her happy face.

"Yes? Is that a yes?" Jim asked excitedly, popping back up onto both feet.

"Yes! Yes I'll marry you, Jim!!" she cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck before he could even slide the ring on her finger.


	31. Chapter 31

_**East Side Slums, **_**September 28, 2006. **Five months. Five measly, marginally-profitable months was all the time Leroy had to get his organization back on track after overcoming Hector Caro before the Man of Steel returned in all his glory. One of his associates upstairs had shown him video footage from his cell phone of Superman setting a 777 in the middle of a ball field in Florida as easily as if he were placing a paperback novel on a coffee table.The _Daily Planet _headline the following day only served to solidify Superman's return. _Dammit all…_

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**December 13, 2006. **"Jacob?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"You can send him in now."

"Right away, Sir."

Kirk Fraser was ushered quickly into Uncle's inner sanctum, and he quickly ran a hand through his hair while futilely trying to smooth away the wrinkles in his red, button-up shirt before taking the seat opposite his employer. The twenty-three year old man wasn't accustomed to dealing with his boss face-to-face, and to be called into his private office so suddenly had left him rather rattled and unnerved.

Leroy steepled his hands before him, looking calm, collected and extremely powerful from where he sat behind his desk. Kirk's gaze darted all around the room before finally settling on the left shoulder of Uncle's dark brown suit jacket; the older man turned to see what had caught the young man's eye, only to realize that his employee was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"I hear that you've done well as Parker's assistant over on Redd Street," Uncle began, looking Kirk straight in the eye.

The coarse, young man finally looked up into his employer's face. "You have? Thank you, Uncle—I've tried hard not to disappoint you for taking me on."

"And you haven't…yet. Now I assume you heard what happened to Oswald, who had territory over on North Cline Road? He resigned yesterday."

As much as Kirk tried not to let it show on his face, but he could tell by Uncle's expression and his acutely piercing gaze that he knew his words had hit their mark. "I was not aware of that," he finally managed to say.

"Well, now that you know, I would like you to take his place."

"You're offering me a promotion?" Kirk asked incredulously. He'd only been with the company for three years and to be offered his own territory was a feat he hadn't expected to accomplish for at least three or four more.

"Yes." Uncle's lips tightened into a small straight line as he waited for a response from the fidgety man before him. "Is that going to be a problem, Mr. Fraser?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"NO! No Sir, not at all…"

"Good; I expect you to be there at 1 tomorrow afternoon. Your crew will await your instructions on-site."

"Thank you, Uncle," Kirk exclaimed as he rose out of his chair. He gripped the hand his employer extended to him and pumped it enthusiastically until Jacob came to escort him from the room, allowing Uncle to turn his attention to more important matters.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**January 5, 2007. **"Kirk's been pinched…it was just a stroke of bad luck, that's all, nothing he did to get himself caught. The way I figure it, he'll probably get three years for his first offense, two and a half if he gets a decent public defender. Don't worry though, Uncle, he knows the drill; he wouldn't have gotten his own territory if he didn't know otherwise," Parker informed his boss on a chilly January afternoon. Uncle nodded his head in understanding before pulling out a fresh pad of paper and making copious notes as his employee rose and quit the room.

* * *

_**Metropolis**_**, October 9, 2009, 10:57 pm. **The shrillling of the phone in Lois and Clark's apartment seemed deafening to the young woman sitting on the edge of her bed; although she was more than ready to climb in and enjoy a much deserved rest while her husband finished changing their daughter's diaper, she grabbed the handset after the first ring, not wanting to risk waking their son.

"Hello?" she whispered loudly into the phone.

"Lois?! It's Chloe, oh my gosh…"

"Chloe, Hun, it's almost 11 at night and I only got four hours sleep between yesterday and today, can it please wait until morning?" she asked wearily, without noticing the enthusiasm in her friend's voice.

"Sure, I'll spare you the details, but I just wanted to tell you that Jim and I are engaged! There, I said it, good night!"

"Wait what!? Jim proposed?! Oh—tthat's so amazing, CONGRATULATIONS!" Lois cried out, now wide awake and too excited to remember to be quiet.

"I _know_, it was so unexpected!! He told me after he popped the question that that's why he's been stalling about moving into a new apartment…he wants to use the money we've been saving for our wedding! Can you believe it, _OUR WEDDING_?!" Chloe said again.

"Oh Clo, I am so happy for the two of you…so how'd he pop the question? What does the ring look like? Have you thought about setting a date yet? How many people are you thinking of inviting?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! We only _just_ got engaged here! It's not like we're planning on charging down the aisle tomorrow or anything…"

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that ever since my own wedding I've been such a sucker for them. Listen, are you free for lunch tomorrow?" she asked as her husband hung his robe on the back of the door before walking over to the bed and climbing under the covers beside his wife with a large smile on his face.

"Sure I am, where do you want to meet?"

"Harold's Diner, say 1 o'clock?"

Chloe's smile broadened even further. "That sounds great; I'll meet you there and share all the mushy details with you then."

"Perfect, I can't wait…and be sure to tell Jim I said congratulations too!"

"Oh I will. Good night, Lois!"

"Good night!" She hung up the phone and placed it back on the nightstand before sliding back into the bed and rolling over to face her husband, who was waiting for her with a silly grin of his own.

"So, Jim finally popped the question, did he?" Clark asked as nonchalantly as he could.

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment before replying, "You knew he was going to ask her to marry him, didn't you?" He raised his right eyebrow almost imperceptibly but didn't answer her, and she playfully swatted his arm. "How long have you known?! And you couldn't even tell me, your wife? What's up with that?!"

"Hey now, I've only known for a few days and we've been so preoccupied with catching the killer for me to say anything before now…not to mention that Jim asked me not to tell you. He was trying to keep it a surprise from all of us so we wouldn't accidentally spill the beans, but I caught him with the ring in his hand so he had to tell me. The question is, do you know _how_ he proposed to her?"

"No, why?"

"Because that was the one part of his plan he wouldn't tell me."

"Oh. Well I'm meeting Chloe for lunch tomorrow to discuss it in detail, so will you be able to watch the kids all by yourself?"

"Of course. You go enjoy yourself with Chloe while the rest of us spend a few hours at the park getting reacquainted after all this hoopla with the serial killer…wait a second though, did I hear you correctly when you said we had _kids_? I thought we only had one, where'd this second child come from?" he joked.

"Ugh, you! That's it, I'm going to bed, good night!" Pecking him quickly on the lips, she rolled over and turned off the lamp on her nightstand, snuggling in beside him for a good night's sleep and enjoying having his company beside her once more.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**October 15, 2009, 5:45 pm. **Things settled down nicely in the week after Jim tangoed with the Ladykiller Killer and popped the question to Chloe. His mother was happy with the prospect of adding a daughter-in-law to the family, but she was less-than-thrilled with the idea of having to survive another wedding, even if she didn't have to to be as involved in the planning process as she was with Jenny's. His siblings were also ecstatic at the notion of having another sister join the clan, although Jenny seemed more subdued and less like her usual cheery self when he relayed the news to her over the phone the previous Saturday. Chloe's father was overjoyed and had called several times over the last few days to discuss details with them, constantly reminding the young couple that no expense was to be spared in the wedding of his only daughter and that he was footing the bill; he wouldn't hear any arguments otherwise.

Still, as happy as he was, Jim was perplexed as to why Jen seemed so out of sorts lately. Seeing as how Chloe had been working late all week to make up for her abrupt absence last Friday, he decided to use the alone time to pick up the phone and give his sister a call.

"Colby residence," a deep male voice called out after the second ring.

"Brian? Hey man, it's Jim, how are you?"

"Jim hi! I'm…" The man took a deep breath before finishing, "I'm alright. How are you? Congrats on getting engaged, by the way, I heard the news through the usual Olsen grapevine. I only met your fiancé briefly at our reception, but she seemed very nice. I'm sure you'll be happy together; I know Jen thinks the world of her."

"As do I, hence why I'm marrying her…listen, there was a reason why I was calling…"

"If it was to talk to Jen I'm afraid you caught her at a bad time; she's resting right now."

He glanced down at his watch and saw that it was only quarter to six. "Really? This early?"

"Um, yep," the other man answered nervously, arousing Jim's suspicions even further.

"Brian…I know something's wrong. I could tell by Jen's voice on the phone the other day, and I can tell now by the way you're holding back on me that something's not right. I'm only going to ask this once; what's wrong with my sister?"

Jim could hear the other man breathing heavily through the phone as he seemingly mulled over his options, as though he still slightly feared his older brother-in-law despite the geographical distance between them. "Jim, I…can you hold on just one second, please?"

"Ok." He heard the sound of the phone being put down on a table and the rustle of a jacket being put on, then of the phone being picked up again and a door opening and closing. "Sorry about that, I just didn't want her to overhear us. She didn't want anybody to know what had happened…"

"What happened?"

"She was pregnant. We were just about to tell everyone the good news when she suffered a miscarriage last week…w-we lost the baby."

The young man sat flabbergasted on his couch, his heart breaking in two for the pain his sister had to have been in over the last seven days while he'd been floating on Cloud Nine. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his mind was working feverishly to form a plan that would help ease his sister's discomfort.

"I'm _so_ sorry…I didn't know, or else I wouldn't have gone on…" but he was cut short by his brother-in-law.

"How could you have known unless you were psychic? Not even our parents know; we hadn't told anybody yet, so it's ok, you have nothing to apologize for. It just that it all happened so fast, you know? First we lose the baby, then you get caught up in that serial killer mess and next you're popping the question to Chloe; Jen's just now taking the time to grieve, that's all. She was so excited about becoming a mother…" he said wistfully, and Jim could tell how excited he had been about becoming a father. "Uh oh, I have to go, I think I hear her moving around in the house. I'll have her call you later, when she's feeling better, I promise."

"You do that," he said just as the line hung up. Jim slipped the phone into his pocket before leaping off the couch and rushing down the hall to the bedroom to pack an overnight bag and get in touch with a car rental agency. Within the hour he was on the road and headed to Connecticut.

* * *

_**Metropolis**_**, October 18, 2009. **Chloe stood at the counter in their kitchen, cutting up some red and green peppers for a stir-fry she was preparing for dinner, when she heard Jim's key turn in the door. Abandoning her work she strode over to greet him.

"How is she?" she asked hurriedly, her face and tone as full of concern for Jen as if the two were biological sisters and not sister-in-laws-to-be.

He shrugged his shoulders and tossed his bag onto the couch. "As well as can be expected, I guess. I would have stayed longer but she insisted that I come back to you and return to work, saying that I'd inconvenienced myself enough on her account…"

"But it wasn't an inconvenience! She lost a child…"

"Which was exactly what I told her, but she threw me out onto the 'mean streets' of Mayfield anyway. By the time I left, at least she was spending more time out of bed and she and Brian seemed to be getting along better. I felt so bad for the guy, Clo; when I first got there he'd been doing anything and everything he could think of to comfort her but she just kept pushing him away, and when I finally got her to talk about what she was doing, she said it was because she felt like a failure for losing _his_ baby…can you believe that?! But before I left I got the two of them to talk about it and clear the air and I think that helped everybody."

"Oh Jim," Chloe exclaimed, wrapping him up in a comforting embrace as she spoke. "So the rest of your family still doesn't know?"

He shook his head as he leaned into her, burying his nose in her blond, perfumed hair. "No, they don't. Jen and Brian are going to wait and tell them once they've coped with it themselves…there's no use telling Mom, she'd just spend twenty-four hours a day seven days a week over there standing over them and worrying about each and every little thing…they need a chance to grieve together, that's all. At least now I know that they're going to be ok; I wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving if I didn't believe that that were true."

She thought back to how she had planned to use her 'Superman Sky Miles' to join him, but since Jim didn't know exactly _how_ she intended to make the trip, he continued to shoot the idea down, saying how he wouldn't hear of her troubling herself to rent a car or buy a train ticket to make the journey. It was one of many moments in recent memory when she desperately wished her fiancé was 'in the know' about Clark, as it would've made things easier if she could have shown up and helped Jenny through all of this, but telling Jim was Clark's decision to make, not hers—not to mention that she understood the risks involved once he found it. It was information that could never be taken back.

"I still wish you'd let me make the trip to Connecticut..."

"I know, Sweetheart, but there were just too many cooks in the kitchen as it was," he told her for the umpteenth time, kissing her on the forehead as she looked up at him.

"Speaking of cooks," she said, returning to the kitchen and trying to change the topic of conversation to something lighter, "I'm in the middle of making a stir-fry, unless you're in the mood for something else."

"Nope, stir-fry sounds delicious." He grabbed plates out of the cupboard to go set the table while she slipped back behind the counter. Jim propped his head up in his hands as he sat down in his seat and watched her work, listening to the 'click–thump' of the knife as she sliced through the peppers on a plastic cutting board. Some minutes later, as Chloe was preparing to drop two large handfuls of veggies in the frying pan, he asked out of the blue, "Do you think it's expected that there be a certain amount of misery after marriage?"

The vegetables landed in the oil with a sizzle, but not before she heard every word he said. She kept her eyes on her work, fearing that this question was a prelude to his potentially breaking off their engagement; she managed to keep her voice steady as she asked, "What makes you think that?"

He sighed audibly and shifted position in his chair. "A couple of things. I mean, I remember my parents being happy for a few years when I was younger, and I remember digging around in the attic after Dad left and finding albums full of photos of the two of them together before their marriage; they were extremely happy in all of those pictures. Then there's Jenny and Brian who were ecstatic before their marriage, but now…well I've never seen my sister so miserable! And not to go dragging your parents into this too but they seemed pretty happy with one another in those pictures taken before your mother's diagnosis, but I've never seen a man look as wretched as your Dad did when we left Belle Reeve that day."

Chloe carefully set the spatula on the counter, turned the heat off and moved the frying pan off the burner before maneuvering over to the table to sit across from him. She reached out and took both of his hands in hers, clasping them tightly while looking him straight in the eyes. In a soft voice, she answered, "You're looking at this all wrong, Jim. It's not marriage that made them unhappy—it was the curve balls that life threw at them _after_ they were married that brought about the unpleasantness. Marriage is an important day in any man or woman's life, and there is such a sense of bliss and joy that comes from marrying the love of your life, that it makes many other events that follow pale in comparison.

"As for the individual cases you mentioned…Honey, my mother has a terrible disease that affects her mind, causing her and my father a whole lot of grief that they could never have foreseen before their marriage. But you met my Dad, you've seen the way he talks about her…nothing would have stopped him from waiting at the altar all those years ago to be joined with 'his Angie'; even if he were able to go back in time, knowing what he knows now, he'd still do it all over again because he loves her that much and he always will. And Brian and Jenny? They're hurting because they've just lost a baby for no apparent reason; God just decided that they weren't meant to be parents yet, but that doesn't mean He won't see fit to bless them with children in a year or two…besides, I've met them both—I know that they'll find happiness again, especially because they have one another to rely on. Joy shared is joy doubled and misery shared is misery halved. In both cases, their marriage was not to blame for their misfortune.

"Now as far as your father is concerned, you'll never know what drove him to walk away unless you find him and I have a feeling that after eighteen years of being gone he doesn't want to be found, which frankly, is his loss. So no, you'll never know if it was 'marriage' that made your father unhappy enough to just get up and leave, but if he were a real man instead of a coward he would have spoken up and said something or done something to try to change the situation instead of just walking away."

Chloe paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "I know that seeing your sister as lost and hurt as she is right now has upset you, Jim, and I know that neither of our families have had the best track record when it comes to making a marriage work, but that doesn't mean that committing to the one you love with your whole heart is the be-all and end-all of good things in life. Life is fraught with happy times and sad times; if it weren't then there'd be no point in waking up every morning to see what joy each day could bring."

He still stared out into the distance, listening to Chloe while pondering his own answers to his question. She tightened her hold on his hands that were still clutched in hers and drew his attention back to her.

"I want to live with _you_, Jim…I want to be married to _you_, have children with _you_, live my life with _you,_ no matter what joy or sadness that life might bring us. But if you're beginning to have second thoughts I'd rather know now then a few years down the road when it's too late."

Jim shook his brownish-blond hair vigorously and answered almost before the words were out of Chloe's mouth, his voice resolute and clear. "No, you're the only woman I've ever loved with my whole heart and I want to marry you, I just wish I could guarantee that you wouldn't have to suffer any heartbreak in the future…if I have to watch you go through something like what Jenny's going through now…"

Chloe pulled his hands up to her lips and kissed the knuckles before replacing them back on the table. "And I love _you_…but I can't guarantee that you won't see me in a state like your sister's in right now, because there _are_ no guarantees like that in life. If there were and if that were the life you were offering to give me, then I wouldn't want it anyway. As I said before, that kind of life's just not worth living."

Without a word Jim wrangled himself loose from the stranglehold she had on his hands and got up, striding around to her side of the table. She pushed her seat away so as to better see what he was doing, when he leaned over and scooped her up in his arms suddenly. She gave a little yelp in surprise, then marveled at how perfectly she fit snuggled in next to his chest as he made his way down the hallway. They were almost to the bedroom when she remembered their food.

"But Jim, the stir-fry!" she cried out, reaching a hand back toward the frying pan and spatula that were waiting patiently to be picked up again.

"Sorry, we're too busy living…" he replied seriously, leaning over to pepper her with kisses.

All Chloe could do was stare in awe at the dramatic effect her words had on the man before her as their bedroom door slammed shut behind them.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Metropolis, **_**June 13, 2007. **Uncle stood in the warehouse, clipboard in hand, as he directed traffic for one of his latest shipments. "Ok, these three crates are to go downstairs into containment room A, these four go in room B, these two stay up here on the main floor and go in the back, left corner over there…" His arm shot out and pointed to the spot, as if he were on the tarmac of an airstrip directing planes instead of people, "And I want those last seven containers in the room next to my office, do you understand?" The driver of the forklift nodded, and set about his work.

"Uncle," a large man in overalls announced, coming up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder while holding a cell phone out in his other hand, large thumb conveniently pressed against the mouthpiece. In the blink of an eye, he found a gun pointed straight at his forehead, wielded by his employer.

"How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me?! And don't call me that when I'm out of the office!"

Ben nodded slowly until his boss tucked the gun away in his belt. "Then what do you want me to call you?"

Leroy's eyes narrowed into hardened slits at the incompetency he was forced to surround himself with. "Nothing," he replied coolly. "Now who's on the phone?"

"A m-man, Sir. He wouldn't identify himself, but he called you 'Unc—'," Ben stopped himself short and hastened on. "He called you by your name and said he knew where you worked, and if you didn't take the call he'd report you to the authorities."

Leroy snatched the phone out of his employee's hands and watched with narrowed eyes until the man walked far enough away that he couldn't overhear the conversation.

"Who the hell is this?!"

"Uncle?" a raspy voice on the other end of the line asked. An ominous silence reigned when he didn't respond. "This is Lex Luthor."

"I thought you were dead?" Uncle replied without missing a beat.

"So did the rest of the world, but as you can tell, I'm a resourceful man—just like you."

"What do you want? Because whatever it is, I can tell you I'm not interested." Leroy balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear before shuffling through the papers attached to the clipboard in his hands, acting as though it were all business as usual.

"I know, I remember you saying the same thing the last time; I was calling to see if you would help me out with a special project. I'd pay you, of course."

"Of course…now, what 'special project' might you need my help with? Not that I'm agreeing to anything, yet."

"Do you still have the craftsmen on your staff? The Mansells?"

Leroy stopped looking through his papers and stood up straighter, taking the phone into his right hand. "How did you hear about them?"

"I heard about a lot of things while I was in prison…Now tell me, do you or do you not still have them on staff?"

"I do…" he replied hesitantly. "But what do you want with them?"

Lex could hear the intrigue his friend's voice and he outlined his plan over the phone. "I'd pay you 2 million, in addition to giving your workers 100,000 apiece for their hand in the work so long as they assure me that they won't try and steal my product."

"I don't know whether they'll be able to come through for you or not; they're artists, not weapons experts."

Uncle could hear Lex's maniacal laughter carry through the phone clearly. "You're not giving them nearly enough credit! They're master forgers, yes, but don't you know why they had to flee Europe? It's because Flora Mansell killed eight London men for no good reason with nothing but a knife crafted by her own hand! That's why they've remained on your 'staff' for so long—they don't _want_ to go back overseas!"

Both businessmen remained silent on the line for the longest time until Leroy spoke up again. "They're my people, they won't steal your 'product'; but I don't want your 2 million."

"Oh? You want more?" Lex asked, shock apparent in his voice.

"No. I want 1 million dollars and a fair share of the product just like before, and I want it in its raw form, before my men ever lay a finger on it."

"Interesting…" Leroy could visualize the bald mastermind puzzling momentarily over this latest development before deciding to pursue more pressing matters—such as his planned capture of Superman. "I accept your terms and I'll be in contact with you shortly as to when to expect the first shipment."

"Very good. Pleasure doing business with you."

"No, no, it's a pleasure doing business with _you_…Uncle," Lex replied in a self-satisfied tone before he hung up with a sharp click.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 3, 2009. **Chloe sat in the richly-decorated sitting room of Isabelle Nonte's penthouse just as she had a few months before when conducting their first interview; this time, however, her attention was constantly drawn from her opulent surroundings to the ring adorning her left hand.

"My apologies for my tardiness; if I dare to spend five extra minutes in bed in the morning, I get thrown twenty minutes off all my appointments for the rest of the day! I hope you weren't kept waiting long?" the heiress asked with a smile as she swept into the room, followed closely behind by her conservative-looking personal assistant.

"No, I wasn't waiting long and there's no need to apologize, really! I'm just glad that you were able to fit me into your busy schedule for this interview after I had to cancel on you last month! You don't know how grateful I am that you could find time for this follow-up article…the original piece written for the 'Metropolan' really struck a chord with the citizens of the city and beyond; not only did we have to set up a fund for all of the donations that came flooding in to help you with your project, but my editor has _personally_ been clamoring for a second look at your story for months now!" She exclaimed excitedly, gesticulating with her hands.

Isabelle smiled. "Oh that's just so flattering! You don't know how much I admired that piece, and it has nothing to do with narcissism, either. When we were talking I felt like you truly valued me as a person and not just as a floozy heiress like the tabloids paint people in my position to be; you helped me finally break away from the likes of Milan Milton and you have _no_ idea how eternally grateful I am to you for that!" The light caught the sapphire on Chloe's hand just then, momentarily distracting her hostess. "Oh my goodness, it looks like something else happened in those months since we last spoke too! Congratulations!" the heiress exclaimed, reaching forward for Chloe's hand so as to better examine the ring.

The young woman blushed as the heiress held her arm out. "Thank you, it happened last month."

"And who's the lucky man?"

"His name is James Olsen, he works…"

"…As a photographer for the _Daily Planet_, yes, I remember seeing his name in the papers—wasn't he the one involved in catching the Ladykiller Killer, along with those reporters Clark Kent and Lois Lane?"

"One and the same. And her name is Lois Lane-Kent now, she and my friend were married a year and a half ago."

Isabelle looked slightly taken aback. "Really? I must pay better attention to the newspapers nowadays then. I remember the two of them from an interview some time ago—your reporter friends, I mean. Quite the dynamic duo they were. And I'll be sure to keep an eye out for your fiancé's work from now on."

"Why thank you," Chloe said, smiling at the praise being lavished on Jim and her friends. "But now I really feel that we must return to what brought me here today, and that is your motivation behind the East Side Slums Revitalization project. What in particular made you decide to spend your time and energy on this project in particular? Was it listening to a particular news item or reading an article, or do you have a more personal connection to the East Side that people don't know about? Perhaps it was a member of your family or something in your past that has inspired you to direct your efforts to that particular neighborhood?"

Chloe watched as the other woman's body language became less relaxed and more professional; she turned away from the reporter ever so slightly and crossed her legs at the knees before providing what sounded to Chloe's well-trained ears to be a prefabricated answer. "I suppose you could attribute my family members as being the motivation behind my charitable ways, even if they didn't point me directly to the East Side themselves. My late parents constantly ingrained in both myself and my late brother Charles, a love of city, state and country; Dad especially reminded us that 'those who find themselves in fortunate circumstances in life must take to looking out for the less-fortunate. It is not only their civic but their karmic duty.' Our family fortune was inherited and my father, who was also a philanthropist, spent years studying philosophy both at home and abroad, and he was a great believer in karma; unfortunately, I'm the only one left who remembers this and I'm desirous to further my parents' legacy."

The young blond woman scribbled hastily in her notepad, grateful for the tape recorder sitting on the table between them catching what parts she missed. "I understand what it's like to be alone; I myself am an only child and I remember how lonely it used to be, and sometimes still is."

Isabelle let out a sigh full of longing and momentarily broke from character. "Oh, that you could understand. I wasn't an only child, my brother and I had one another growing up until the accident took him from me. Charlie was my only friend in those days, and I do this work for him as well, if not more so, than for my parents." The heiress turned behind her, addressing her assistant. "Nina, would you fetch us some tea? And please, take your time." The stern brunette nodded at her employer before making her way to the nearest exit, leaving the reporter and the heiress alone together.

There was something about the woman's previous phrase and the quick dismissal of her assistant that led Chloe to believe there was more to her relationship with her brother then met the eye, and she scribbled a quick note reminding her to look into it further. "I remember reading about your brother's untimely death, and I'm truly sorry for your loss; you're, right, it was unkind of me to speak of my loneliness as a child compared to the losses you've suffered back then, as well as in recent years. Would you mind telling me a bit more about your brother and what happened to him?"

She reached into her pocket for a delicate, embroidered handkerchief and dabbed gently at her eyes before responding. "Charles—Charlie—was my older brother, older by three years. You'd think that we wouldn't have gotten along as well as we did being brother and sister with such a large age difference, but we did. I suppose it had to do with growing up in this stifling environment really…he was the only other person who understood what it was like living like this," she said, gesturing around the room at the luxury and privilege she'd been surrounded by all her life. "I know, I sound spoiled, but as a child I never had any _real _friends except for my brother; I used to dream of what it would be like to 'hang out' with other girls, gossiping about boys or sharing a pizza and watching a movie instead of taking equestrian lessons with little twits who only cared about acquiring the latest fashions and accessories for the coming season. Charlie understood it and felt the same way too, and we used to commiserate together. It was a freak accident, the incident on Martha's Vineyard that killed him—the result of adolescent indiscretions that robbed me of my friend and brother when I was only fifteen years old." She stopped and dabbed at her eyes some more, attempting to avoid streaking her make-up while not really succeeding. "I do this work for him too."

"I can't imagine what it's like to lose your family and be the only one left. I truly am sorry, Miss Nonte."

Isabelle wiped away the last tear and turned to face the reporter once more. "Thank you. Others have said it before, but somehow when you say it, it sounds sincere."

"That's because it is," Chloe replied, unconsciously reaching a hand out to pat Isabelle's. She smiled at the gesture.

"Well, let's see if we can't forget what a teary mess I just made of myself and go back to your earlier question about what else motivated me to jump into this fracas with the City. Aside from my family's influence working through me, it's also been the indifference of the Metropolis City Councilmen that have propelled me forward; they feel that the East Side is a lost cause and have felt that way since the arson attacks in the early '80's. I _vehemently_ disagree and that's why I'm fighting so passionately on behalf of the people who live there. They don't deserve to live in squalor any longer when we as a community have the means to make a difference that could impact thousands of lives."

Chloe bit her lower lip and flipped through her notes hastily. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the arsons you just mentioned; can you tell me a little bit more about them?" She studied the other woman's body language as she prepared to respond, watching her twist and fidget nervously with the handkerchief in her hand…_There is definitely something more going on here then meets the eye, and perhaps this is it. I'll need to look into it some more when I get home later._

"It started in September of 1983 and ended in July of 1984, around the same time Charlie died. There was an arsonist who would slip into the East Side at night and torch small, family-owned businesses. It really devastated the area during the episodes and for quite a long time afterward."

"I see."

Nina re-entered the room with the tray of tea just then, causing Chloe to reign in her line of questioning back to the original subject instead of straying onto what she felt was a much bigger story.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 4, 2009, 7:23 pm. **It was after dinner and the kitchen table had been cleared of all the dishes, only to be littered in laptops, tiny strips of photo negatives, notebooks and one tape recorder.

"Honey, what do you think of this shot of us?" Jim asked, looking over at her while holding a strip up to the light and pointing at a negative for her to examine.

She glanced up briefly from her laptop but didn't bother getting up from her seat for a closer look. "That's a nice one," she muttered before re-reading the results of her latest internet search. "Hey Jim, what do you know about the arson fires back in the Slums in the early 80's?"

He squinted and inspected the negatives once more. Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, "Not much, I'm afraid. I was what, all of six or seven back when they happened? Not to mention I was still living in Mayfield at the time. All I remember hearing about them is what somebody told me after I first moved to the City; they said that there were something like ten or twelve fires over the course of a year and that they were really bad."

"Thirteen, there were thirteen…and they were all concentrated upon small businesses in the Slums…nowhere else in the City, just the Slums, hmm…." Chloe looked down and scribbled something onto the notepad beside her.

Jim plucked out another negative for her approval. "What about these two? Do you like this one better than that other one; or this one better than the last two?"

"What?" she asked distractedly, looking up again. "They're both fine, then again you know you do great work."

"Chloe, can I have just two minutes of your time, please? We need to hammer out some of the details for the engagement party our parents are throwing for us in January, and both your dad and my mom want us to pick out a couple of nice photos of us together to have enlarged and matted so people can sign them instead of a guest book."

She raised an eyebrow at him curiously. "I told you it was a bad idea, giving my father your mother's phone number; now, in addition to a wedding, we have an engagement party to help plan too. And this photo perusal you've got going on over there is something that needs to be taken care of right now? The party isn't for another two and a half months!"

"Well something needs to be done now if we plan on getting married sometime in the not-too-distant future!" he shot back incredulously. They stared hard at one another, nostrils flaring in indignant anger, until each had cooled down. After a minute of internal debate, Chloe got up from her chair and went around to his side of the table.

"Ok, show me which three you liked again?"

"This one and these two," he replied, pointing to the spots on the film.

She pointed to the second photo. "The first one and the third one. It looks like there's a wisp of hair in my face in that one."

Jim pulled the negatives in for a closer inspection, having not noticed the 'flaw' that his fiancée discovered in the other photo. "I'm sorry, who's the photographer here, you or me?"

She leaned over and sweetly kissed the top of his head. "You are, it's just that it's my hair and I tend to be more mindful of it, even when it's flying all over the place."

"Uh huh…"

She went back over to her work and they sat in thoughtful silence for ten minutes more, Chloe constantly comparing the results of her internet searches to her copious notes, occasionally scratching the pencil across the sheet as she added to her data.

"Do you know anything about a Charles Nonte?" she asked him out of the blue without looking up.

"Nope," he answered honestly, scratching his head and poring over different brochures. "Is he related to Isabelle Nonte?"

"Yes; he was her older brother."

"Was?"

"He died in July of 1984, in a boating accident off of Martha's Vineyard. From what I can find out…" she muttered, scrolling down the page detailing the circumstances of the accident, "He and some of his privileged buddies were doing some underage drinking when they decided to go out on one of the kid's power boats. After they'd been sitting in the water a while, doing some more drinking, one of them revved the engine and jump-started the thing and Charlie fell backwards into the water when the boat took off again. When his friends circled back to get him, they missed and he was somehow cut up by the propeller as the boat passed…the poor kid bled to death before they could get back to shore. The coroner's report said his blood alcohol levels were well over the legal limit when he died."

"How awful!" Jim said, absently rubbing the two inch scar over his heart as he spoke, as if he too were pained.

"Indeed—no wonder Isabelle didn't want to talk about it…"

"Ok then, no boating excursions for us then, duly noted," he said, crossing it off one of his lists nearby.

"What are you talking about now?"

"Our honeymoon. If we go on a cruise then we can sign up for all these extra trips and stuff when the ship docks and, after hearing that story, I have no desire to get on a power boat to tour any of the islands, do you?"

Chloe rubbed at her temples as her notes blurred before her. She knew she was on the edge of a major discovery, she just couldn't figure out what it was, and with her fiancée distracting her. "Jim, I don't have time to discuss the wedding right now! I'm in the middle of a story here, a really big one if I could just figure out how this all fits together…"

"Will you listen to yourself?! You're too _busy_ to plan _our_ wedding?! We both lead busy lives Clo, but I seem to be the only one setting my priorities straight when it comes to what's important!"

"You're kidding me, right? We haven't even set a date yet and you want to plan our honeymoon! How about we just see if we can make it down the aisle in one piece, how about that?!"

"Now what's _THAT _supposed to mean?! You're saying you don't think we'll make it to our wedding day without killing each other, is that what you're saying?!"

Her blood was boiling and pounding in her ears as she looked up over her laptop at him, completely incensed. Slamming shut her computer she rose from the table and shoved it into her oversized purse, gathering her notes together quickly to join the computer before reaching for her coat. "I am going to the coffee shop around the corner to get some work done and give us _both_ a chance to calm down, before we _each_ say something we'll regret," she informed him through clenched teeth before grabbing her keys off the table and storming out of the apartment with her burden in tow.

* * *

**7:38 pm, EST/4:38, PST. **"Hello," the young man called out cheerily into his cell phone. Lois had insisted he carry it with him at all times since Haley had been battling an ear infection; she wanted to be able to send him to the drugstore without having to shout and risk irritating the baby. Clark was now flying over the Pacific Ocean at a leisurely pace in his Superman suit, enjoying the view and peace and quiet after having averted a Chernobyl-like incident from somewhere deep in Russia.

"CK, it's Jimmy."

"Oh hey, Jim, what's going…" he said casually before his friend cut him off.

"I am just so mad at Chloe right now—it's like she's not taking this wedding stuff seriously at all! I mean, I thought girls dreamt their whole life about 'the Big Day', but with her that couldn't be further from the truth! So I'm sitting here trying to narrow down the list of options for her, to keep the decision-making simple, and she blows up at me for interrupting her because she's on some _BIG STORY!_ I mean, when aren't we on a big story, right? And how hard is it to take five minutes to look at photographs for the engagement party? Or discuss honeymoon options? It's so simple; you either want to go on a cruise or you don't want to go on a cruise, yes or no, just pick one, I don't know why this is so hard…"

"Whoa there, calm down! Do me a favor and back away from the wedding paraphernalia right now. I mean it—I want you to walk into a room where all the brochures and magazines are out of sight and then put it all out of your mind. Can you do that for me?"

Jim didn't respond directly, but Clark heard him mutter sarcastically under his breath as he went about doing as he was told. "Trying some wacky, meditation mumbo-jumbo on me…probably something he picked up hanging out with llamas somewhere in the Tibetan wilderness…"

The Man of Steel grinned and decided to have a little fun at his friend's expense. "No, I'm not going to push some meditation mumbo-jumbo on you; that's not the Tibetan llamas' style."

"What the…?! How did you hear that?!" he asked incredulously.

Clark chuckled. "I told you, I have good ears—remember the night of my bachelor party at Perry's?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"Ok…now, is it all out of sight?"

"Mmhmm."

"Good. Now I'm not asking you to sit on the floor and chant, but I want you to just close your eyes and take several deep breaths to try and relax." No sooner were the words out of Clark's mouth then he could hear his friend take three or four deep cleansing breaths in through his nose. "How do you feel?"

"Better…but that still doesn't help me solve the prob—…"

"Uh, uh, uh—absolutely no wedding talk. Now take a few more deep breaths and then we'll discuss things." A few seconds more and Jim's heart rate slowed down noticeably. "First thing you need to do: stop worrying," Clark said definitively.

"But…"

"Jim, you and Chloe love each other and this wedding _will_ happen, but it's not as though it's happening tomorrow. Neither of your priorities are skewed, you're just working on two different timetables right now. When you're both in a better mood and not as busy, you need to set a date for the wedding and everything else will fall into place."

Clark was met with a very awkward silence from the other end of the line before he heard his friend say, "You know what? You're right." There was another ominous pause. "So I'm _not_ the girl for thinking about all this stuff right this minute…"

"No, you are _not_ the girl; guys get excited about their wedding day too, it's perfectly natural. Besides, you and Chloe should just enjoy your engagement right now and not worry about picking out place settings for your reception or something…"

"Oh crap, that's something we have to do?! I thought the reception hall did that stuff all for us! I've got to go put that down on my to-do list…"

"_Jimmy_…"

"Right, sorry, no wedding worries…"

"Alright. Now just stay in there until you've calmed down then go back out and talk to Chloe about things _rationally_."

"Uh…I-I can't do that," Jim stuttered.

"Why not?"

"Well because…because she kind of stormed off to the nearby coffee shop to get some work done."

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"That would be a problem then, wouldn't it?" he replied, stealing one of his wife's signature comeback lines.

"Do you think I should go after her and talk to her?"

Clark's eyes went wide at the suggestion as the California coastline came into view. "Uh, uh, no way, don't _even_ think about it! If she's anything like Lois then it's best to leave her alone, let her work out her frustration on the story, and she'll come home when she's calmed down and ready to talk some more. And Jim, don't worry so much…this kind of stuff happens to all couples."

"Even to you and Lois?" he asked a little too eagerly.

His friend smirked and rolled his eyes. _Why does everyone seem to think that we're immune to these kinds of marital spats? _"Yes, even me and Lois."

"Wow, ok. Um, thanks again for everything, CK. I'll see you tomorrow in the office."

"See ya." Superman flipped his cell phone shut just as he soared over the California shore.

* * *

**7:42 pm. **"Lois here," Lois chirped almost inaudibly into her cell phone. She'd just gotten the baby to stop fussing and had Jason playing quietly in his room when the call came in. _Thank Heaven I had the foresight to set it to vibrate, _she thought to herself.

"Lois, it's Chloe. You will never believe what Jim did to me; he ambushed me with wedding plans! Ambushed! 'Pick out pictures for the engagement party, Sweetie', 'What do you think about a cruise for our honeymoon?', 'Why are you paying more attention to your work then you are to me?'…"

"Chloe, that doesn't even sound like Jim!" Lois said a little more loudly as she moved out into the living room where she wouldn't risk disturbing Haley.

"No, I know, but I'm trying to do some research on this big story that my editor's been all over me for for months now, and with Jim breathing down my neck I can't seem to get anywhere! Not to mention that we've only been engaged a month and I thought that we could maybe enjoy that a little bit first, but the way he's reading through those brochures and staring at pictures and writing lists…I feel like some of the fun is being taken out of it too! How did you and Clark ever manage to get through it all? You guys had only what, two and a half, three months to plan your wedding? If this keeps up for much longer, I don't know that one of us will _live_ long enough to walk down the aisle…"

"Ok, first things first, you need to get away."

"I am away—I'm in a coffee shop trying to focus on my story…wait, how did you know that anyway?" Chloe asked confusedly, wondering if her friend had 'borrowed' her husband's x-ray vision.

"No, not away from Jim, I mean the two of you should go away together somewhere, even if it's only for a few hours. Clark flew me and Jason to a spot along the Danube for a picnic about a month and a half before our wedding, just so we could spend some time alone together and get away from the craziness and re-connect; obviously you don't need to go _that _far…"

"…But I get the picture. I guess that makes sense."

"It also sounds to me like you need to have a talk with your fiancée. Guys won't admit it, but they're just as excited about the 'Big Day' as we are—they just don't always show it. Clark let me handle most of the details since he said the focus was all on me, but there were a few things in there that he absolutely insisted upon for our wedding."

Chloe smiled in remembrance of Lois and Clark's wedding a year and a half ago; it had been the first time she'd been introduced to Jim and she hadn't even noticed him right away because he spent more than half the night behind his camera at the reception.

"You still there?" her friend's voice called out on the other end of the line.

Chloe shook her head and brought herself back to the here and now. "Yes, sorry. But how do I get him to realize that I want to be a part of the planning process, but that I also have this HUGE deadline to meet?"

"Well it sounds to me like…wait, what's this story of yours with the huge deadline again?" Lois asked, suddenly more interested in the story then the wedding problems.

"It's my follow-up to the piece I wrote on Isabelle Nonte a couple of months ago—actually, while I've got you on the line, were you and your family living in Metropolis back in the early 80's?"

"When specifically?"

"Around '83-'84."

"Oh, you want to know about the arson fires in the Slums," Lois said matter-of-factly, remembering the story that dominated headlines for months when she was a child and just starting to take an interest in journalism.

"That, and is there anything you can remember about Charles Nonte, Isabelle's older brother? He died in July of '84."

"Hmmm…I remember there was some sort of accident somewhere up North and that his funeral was a very big deal; the crème-de-la crème of Metropolis' elite showed up to pay their respects. Other then that though, no, I don't know much about him. As for the fires, they went from bad to worse and pretty much devastated the entire East Side; only a handful of small businesses were left standing by the end of it all. I remember my Dad used to come home for dinner in the evenings and talk to my Mom about how the city considered deploying National Guardsmen to patrol the streets to catch the fire-starter, but it never came to that because the fires stopped rather abruptly. Tell you what, I'll see what I can pull up in the _Daily Planet_ archives and fax it over to your office tomorrow, sound good?"

"That sounds great. Now, back to me and Jim…"

"Right, sorry, didn't mean to get us off track there," Lois apologized. "It sounds to me like each of you do have your priorities straight, you're just working off two different schedules. You're focused on work, specifically your deadline, and Jim's excited about the wedding so he's focused on that—that's not to say that you aren't excited too, it's just that you realize that it isn't going to happen tomorrow so you're not as anxious about making all the arrangements like he is. What the two of you both need to do is take a breather, then try talking to each other—_calmly_—about how to get everything done. Trust me, you two _will_ make it down the aisle in one piece, it's not as difficult as it seems right now." Lois looked up and caught sight of her husband zipping in through the window she'd left unlatched for his use, then spinning out of the suit and checking on Haley and Jason before taking a seat on the sofa.

"Thanks, Lois; I guess I just needed some reassurance from someone who's been there that I wasn't being unreasonable about all of this."

"Well, in my opinion, you're not being unreasonable you're just trying to juggle your career AND plan a wedding, which are no easy feats in and of themselves."

"Oh, is that all?" Chloe asked teasingly, making both women laugh. "Alright, I'll let you go. Thanks again for all the help."

"My pleasure—and I'll be sure to fax you that information sometime around noon tomorrow. Good night!" She hung up the phone.

"Ironically, that's pretty much just what I told Jim when he called me all distressed about the situation," Clark piped up as his wife sidled over and settled down beside him on the couch.

"You mean he called you too?"

"Yep, just before I hit California."

Lois sighed and snuggled deeper into her husband's chest as he gently wrapped his arm around her. "Where would those two be if it weren't for the two of us?"

"Not getting married, that's for sure," Clark deadpanned, causing them both to shake with laughter.

* * *

Chloe returned home to the apartment shortly after her conversation with Lois and she and Jim apologized to one another for their earlier behavior. After setting a date for their wedding—May 22, 2010—they managed to hash out a few details regarding their upcoming engagement party and nuptials before calling it a night and heading to bed.


	33. Chapter 33

_**East Side Slums, **_**February 23, 2008. **Right after the blitz attack in September of the previous year, Leroy knew exactly what Lex Luthor was up to. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before the bald man got himself killed in the process; so when he awoke that cold February morning to the news that the man had been shot by an FBI agent in a bunker outside of Chicago, Leroy felt a distinct measure of satisfaction. That bit of information, along with the mug of coffee in his hands, went far towards warming him against the chill that had permeated throughout the apartment during the night.

The only thing to mar an otherwise perfect morning was learning that the Man of Steel was still alive; however, it did bolster his spirits somewhat to learn that the superhero's location, as well as his physical condition, were both unknown. It meant that the good times might roll on for several more months before the man in blue showed himself and put a damper on Uncle's burgeoning business once more.

Once he caught sight on the news of the impromptu celebrations erupting out on the streets, Leroy decided to avoid the downtown area that day. Superman well-wishers seemed to pour out of every building, and his stomach churned at the sight. Uncle's profits had increased exponentially during the kidnapping crisis, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the superhero would be gracing the City's skies once again and ruining his bottom line.

He glanced out the window as he sat down to breakfast and caught sight of one of his employees, Shane 'Freeze' Caughey, standing on the opposite street corner. Freeze had joined up a year and a half before and had quickly become Leroy's swiftest and most trustworthy runner; he'd earned his nickname during a bust in early 2007, when he was the only one out of a crew of five to escape police custody. The cops had yelled "Freeze" and the then-seventeen year old kid had bolted like the wind. The young man also had the odd proclivity of wearing zip-up, hooded sweatshirts year round and never seemed to sweat. Uncle had promoted him from delivery runner to collections shortly after the teenager's near-arrest and hadn't regretted the decision since.

Pulling the shade down behind him to signal to Shane that he was free to come up, Leroy got up from his table and strolled over to the front door, cinching the black bathrobe tight around his trim waist.

"You get everything on the grocery list just like I asked?" he inquired once the young man had stepped into the apartment.

Freeze unfurled the top of the large brown shopping bag so Uncle could easily see inside. It was chock full of wads of cash, ranging from dirty, rumpled five dollar bills all the way up to crisp, new hundreds. He estimated there was at least twenty to thirty thousand dollars bundled up in there. With an odd twinkle in his eye, Shane replied, "I got every item on the list, just like you asked."

* * *

_**Metropolan News Magazine Offices, **_**November 5, 2009. **"Remember, remember the Fifth of November," Chloe muttered to herself as she tapped her pencil on her desk and stared at the information in front of her. It had taken some arm twisting, but she'd been able to get a hold of Charles Nonte's school records from a sympathetic secretary at the Belmont Boy's Prep School on the outskirts of Metropolis. She'd wanted to get a better idea of what type of person Charles was; all the articles written after his death had nothing but exemplary things to say about the "Young man from an upstanding family who was cut down in his prime". The records from B.B. Prep told quite a different story.

Chloe quickly discovered that Charles Nonte was not nearly as honorable as the newspapers made him out to be posthumously. She turned the page and continued scanning the carefully type-written papers; by the time he was fifteen, he had quite a few infractions racked up for small misdemeanors such as smoking on school grounds to being a disruptive presence in the classroom, all the way up to bullying younger children and breaking curfew. He was suspended several times and, if she read the inflection of several comments penned by the Headmaster correctly, it seemed as though the young man would have been expelled on nearly a half dozen separate occasions were it not for his family's money and connections.

A knock at the door caused Chloe's head to snap up as a young woman stepped into the office with several sheets of paper clipped together in her hand.

"This fax just came in for you from the _Daily Planet_, Miss Sullivan."

"Thanks Anita, I've been waiting for that." Chloe got up and took the fax from the young woman's hands, then shut the door behind her.

According to the back issues of the _Daily Planet_ that Lois had managed to dig up, investigators believed that Molotov cocktails were used by the arsonist to set the various blazes. The businesses themselves appeared to be targeted at random and the fires never extended beyond the borders of the Slums. Behind the articles covering the fires, there was also what little information the _Daily Planet _had on Charles Nonte: most were announcements about various social engagements and charitable events that he and his family had attended, as well as the press coverage surrounding his death and funeral. Lois had even gone so far as to insert a grainy, black and white copy of a photograph in which Chloe saw a dashing young man with an easy grin wearing a tuxedo, his arm around the shoulder of a striking, raven-haired teenage girl; upon closer inspection she discovered that the girl was Isabelle, his younger sister. She couldn't have been more then 12 or 13 years old in the photo.

As she flipped through the new information, that niggling sensation that she was missing something came back. Chloe sat back down at her desk and pulled out her handwritten list of the dates of all the fires in the East Side Slums, then glanced over at Charles Nonte's records from school not knowing what it was she was looking for until her gaze happened to fall on the dates when the young man was caught breaking curfew.

_Oh my God…_

* * *

_**Metropolis Plaza Hotel, **_**November 5, 2009, 2:33 pm. **Isabelle left the luncheon of the Metropolis chapter of the League of Women Voters and proceeded to her car where her valet stood at attention, holding the door open for her, an easy smile on his face. Nina stood off to the side, reminding her of an appointment at the dressmaker's at 3 o'clock, her voice droning on and on until a more familiar and much more cheerful one cut through the babble. Isabelle jerked her head up in time to see Chloe Sullivan race toward her on the sidewalk, just as she was about to step gracefully into her car.

A pleasant smile crossed her face. "Why Miss Sullivan, I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon! Do you have more questions for me?"

"Actually, I only have one…"

"Miss Nonte, if we dally any longer you'll be late for your appointment with Theo, and you know how impossible he gets when anyone is late," Nina said, giving the journalist a harsh glance in reprimand.

"Yes, Nina, I understand. Would you be so kind as to ride in front with Michael so that Miss Sullivan and I may speak in private?" She turned to the newcomer almost as an afterthought and added, "That is, if you don't mind riding with me across town, Miss Sullivan."

"I don't mind at all, that'll be fine; this shouldn't take long anyway," Chloe replied as casually as she could, acting as though riding in a limousine were an everyday occurrence. Nina nodded mutely in response and swiftly moved to the front of the car as Michael helped the other two young ladies in; the limo was underway and in the midst of Metropolis traffic before either woman spoke again.

"How long have you known about your brother, Miss Nonte?" the reporter asked, driving straight to the point.

The heiress looked away with a well practiced, unaffected air. "Why whatever do you mean?"

Chloe cocked an eyebrow. "I think you and I both know what I mean," she intoned, looking over the elegant woman sitting opposite her. "When we last spoke, I asked you why you were doing your work in the Slums. You said that you did it _for_ Charles and not to honor his memory; then there was the way you told me how the arson fires on the East Side stopped _around _the same time that he died, again linking the two subjects together. So tell me, when did you discover that your brother was the East Side Arsonist?"

Isabelle stared at the young woman, wide-eyed and indignant, but when she saw that Chloe remained unfazed she allowed her true emotions to surface. The woman looked out the window at the passing scenery once more, this time with silent tears streaming down her face; after a few moments, she took a deep breath and turned to face the reporter again, only this time she looked as though she'd aged ten years in as many seconds as a mixture of weariness and relief stole across her countenance.

"I suppose, subconsciously, that I wanted someone to find out what he'd done."

Chloe nodded her head. "Perhaps…but something tells me that you yourself didn't even know it was him until much more recently."

The heiress wiped her tear-streaked face with a tissue that Chloe had produced from her bag. "It was about four years ago, after my mother died; I was cleaning out the penthouse, deciding what to keep and what to put up for auction. My mother and father refused to touch Charlie's room after he died—they kept it almost like a shrine to him for all those years—and I finally decided it was time to move on and clear everything out. That's when I came across his journal." She pulled the small, red, hardcover book out of her handbag, a constant reminder of the destruction her beloved elder brother had wrought. "You have to remember, I was only fifteen when he died; I always knew he wasn't a saint, everyone knew that, but he was my brother and I loved him. After his death none of that seemed to matter anymore…they'd all made him out to be some sort of angel! Then I read in his own hand about all the horrible things he'd done; he cataloged when and how he'd torched each and every single one of those businesses and the pleasure he took from it, and it…it…it was_ awful_, reading that journal, _just awful_! That's when I knew that I had to get involved somehow—I had to make right what he'd made so horribly wrong!"

"You felt it was your 'karmic and civic duty' to make up for your brother's mistakes."

"YES! That's it, that's absolutely it! And I've been trying to accomplish that ever since, only the City Council keeps holding me back!" She held her face in her hands again, crying freely, and Chloe hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder.

Some blocks later, Chloe spoke again. "I think it's time you relieve yourself of some of this burden…you've paid for Charlie's problems many times over now, let me help draw attention to your cause by telling your story—the _full_ story."

The heiress shook her head which was still hidden in her hands. "No…not until I see this project come to fruition," she replied, inhaling deeply and trying to calm herself down. "Charlie destroyed so many lives—his only saving grace was that he didn't take any in the process—and I need to atone for his sins. I can't stop until I've done that."

"But that doesn't mean you have to go it alone! Let me help you, please! I only want to help..."

Isabelle's head shot up at that, staring Chloe straight in the eyes and whispered, "He wasn't always a bad person you know…"

"I know."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 8, 2009. **"Remind me why I'm here doing this again, and on a Sunday no less? We could be relaxing on the couch, or visiting the Vanderworth Museum, or in bed doing other…"

"JIM!" Chloe cut him off in a loud whisper, semi-horrified at what he was insinuating. They were riding up the elevator towards Isabelle Nonte's penthouse for the photo shoot that would accompany the article about her involvement in the East Side Slums and the impact her brother's actions had on the entire area. "You're doing this because you're one of the best photographers out there, because you're my fiancée and you love me, and because Isabelle Nonte herself _personally requested_ that you, and only you, take her photos. We're trying to keep this very hush-hush with the 'Metropolan' until the last minute."

"Ah! Well, if Miss Nonte wants me too…" he said, soft brown eyes full of mirth, as he shifted the multitude of gear he carried and leaned over to kiss her.

"Very funny you."

"By the way, how is the article coming along?"

Chloe chewed on her lower lip at that question. "It's…" She thought a moment longer, turning to face him. "It's harder then I thought it would be, to tell you the truth. I'm trying to stay un-biased to this whole situation, but I can't help wanting to downplay Charles Nonte's involvement somewhat so that I don't hurt Isabelle; not that she had anything to do with what he did, but this was her older brother we're talking about here, someone she looked up to and loved and trusted! And to learn about all the horrible things he did and have it tarnish her memory of him…it's beginning to take its toll on her, I can see that.

"I'm also trying to get the article finished and to my editor by Wednesday so it'll make next month's issue instead of January's _and_,to top it all off, Christian has no idea what exactly he's in for—he thinks it's a simple follow-up piece to the original I wrote for the June issue, he doesn't know what I've uncovered here."

"Sounds like quite the scoop," Jim replied as the bell dinged, signaling their floor. He disembarked and made it no more than a few steps into the room before he began mutely studying his environs with wide eyes; he'd never seen such a lavish room in all his life, let alone been in one, and he was only in the foyer.

"Chloe!" Isabelle cried out happily, stepping over to greet them. The two women had grown exceptionally close over the past few days, between their numerous conversations and the secrets now shared between them. "You must be James Olsen, Chloe's fiancée!" she said, shaking the young man's hand. "I've heard so much about you!"

"Likewise," he replied, slightly intimidated by his surroundings. "And please, call me Jim."

"Well ok then, Jim—but only if you'll call me Isabelle. But enough of that; I'm sure you both want to get straight to work so you can enjoy the rest of your Sunday in peace. Thank you again for doing this off the books, I appreciate how quiet you're keeping all of this, even if it's only delaying the inevitable. Now if you'll follow me this way, I thought maybe we could do the shoot in the formal living room…"

Jim put a hand over his mouth as he whispered to Chloe, "There are _multiple_ _living rooms_?!"

"Shhh!!"

For the next hour, Jim assembled his equipment and set up some possible shots while the women stood off to the other side of the room with Isabelle's hair stylist, make-up artist and personal assistant, as they discussed various options from a rack of clothes brought in from another room. After he gave them a twenty minute warning, they scrambled to get ready in a different room altogether; when Isabelle returned she was wearing a smart, black, designer pantsuit, with her hair up and her make-up subtle yet flawless.

Jim seated Isabelle on the sofa and had her cradle in her hands a beautifully framed picture of her family that was taken in 1983. He snapped away with his large digital camera as the straight-backed woman sat there, barely breathing and looking extremely somber, while Chloe stood behind Jim offering to help out as the need arose. A few minutes later, he moved his subject over to the fireplace, placing the framed photo on the mantle while having her lean next to it. The small audience watched as the photographer snapped away with his subject in various poses for another fifteen minutes before turning to Chloe and muttering, "You can tell this isn't working, can't you?"

Her blond head shook vigorously in agreement and that's when he decided to take charge of the situation. "Ok everyone, would you please excuse us for a minute or two?" he asked politely of the other people in the room. Their eyes all roved over to where Isabelle stood and she gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head, dismissing them. They filed out of the room quickly and silently.

"Miss Nonte…"

"Isabelle."

"Isabelle, Chloe and I sensed this and I think you do too, that this shoot just isn't working the way it should be."

"I agree, so what would you suggest we do to remedy that?"

"Honestly?" Jim asked her, arching an eyebrow at the free reign she was allowing him.

"Of course."

"Ok, well first…" He reached behind her head and unfastened the clip that held her raven tresses up and made her look too severe. "There, that's done. Now, do you have any casual clothes? By that I mean jeans and a plain, solid colored t-shirt, and maybe some loafers?"

"Absolutely, why, would you like me to change?"

"If you wouldn't mind," he stated simply with a kind smile. Isabelle glanced at Chloe, then got up and made her way to a door at the opposite end of the room, alone.

Jim turned to his fiancée and pointed to the large backpack he'd brought with him. "Chloe, would you mind grabbing the light gray canvas and those rods out of there for me please?" He walked around the perimeter of the room once more, surveying the layout. "Yes, I think if we use this space in front of the fireplace…" he said to himself, moving the ornate antique coffee table that he deemed to be in his way.

"What are you doing moving that around? Isabelle didn't say…"

"Isabelle gave me permission to do what needs to be done to make this shoot work, Love, and I need the space. Now let me help you with that." He relinquished his hold on the table and strode over, setting his camera down and helping her assemble the poles together that would hold up the backdrop.

When the woman in question returned fifteen minutes later wearing jeans, a royal blue t-shirt and black loafers, her eyes went wide in surprise at the change in set-up but she chose to say nothing. Jim walked over to greet her, having exchanged his digital Canon for his trusty 35mm Minolta, and he guided her over to the gray backdrop that was hung low and extended out over the floor. "Now if you wouldn't mind having a seat right here…"

"On this?" she asked, pointing at the rag on the floor before her semi-incredulously.

"Yes, if you please. I promise you, it's clean."

"Alright." She plopped down in an undignified way and sat cross-legged, her arms extended out between her legs and fingers intertwined, staring at him as he picked up his camera. "Now what would you like me to do?"

"Nothing, just…just stay right there…" She heard Jim snap away and she looked to Chloe in confusion. Isabelle's expression seemed to change with every click of the shutter until she realized exactly what differentiated this photo shoot from all the others; it was far more casual and relaxed then any she'd ever had done before. She was no longer the Heiress or Miss Nonte; she was simply Isabelle, one of a hundred billion people on the planet, who just happened to be getting her picture taken so that it would accompany an article with the story she had to tell.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Jim stepped away from behind the camera with a satisfied smile on his face. "I do believe we got the shots we needed, so we're done here," he proclaimed proudly.

Isabelle got up off the sofa that she'd been moved to and stepped forward to shake Jim's hand in gratitude. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you, either of you, for all that you're doing."

"It's our pleasure, really."

Turning to Chloe and shaking her hand as Jim packed up his equipment, she added, "If there's ever anything you need, please let me know."

With a wide smile the young blond woman replied, "All we need is your word that you'll be at our engagement party at the Biltmore on January 16th."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

Arthur Cheswick was the third person to read Chloe's latest article, after Isabelle and Jim had placed their stamps of approval on it the evening before, and he was so taken aback by it's claims that he sank into his desk chair in disbelief. Chloe stifled a proud smile as she sat in her colleague's office, waiting for him to finish reading her piece.

"Is it true?" he asked, his mouth still agape as he went back to flipping through the pages in his hands.

"What do you mean 'is it true'?! Of course it's true, Artie! You know I'd never print anything libelous!"

"Oh my God, he really did set all those fires…"

"Yes he did, and I have the evidence to prove it."

"Oh my God—this is going to rock Metropolis to its very foundation! The Nontes are one of the City's founding families! What'd Christian have to say about this? You've shown it to him, right?"

She shook her head. "Nope. You're only the third person to read it. I wanted to run it by you first before I took it to the editor."

"Wow…um, yeah, just wow," Artie replied, flustered and flattered. "He's pretty much going to kiss the ground you walk on after he reads this. We need to get photography on this too so we have pictures to go with the January issue…"

"Actually I've already got those too," she informed him, whipping out a large envelope of Jim's prints.

"Who took these, your fiancée?"

"Yes, on Sunday. Isabelle insisted we keep this as off the grid as much as possible until it went to print."

"Ok, I take that back: Christian is going to _love_ you but Hans is going to kill you. He's been dying to get into the Nonte penthouse for a shoot since he started here five years ago! It's all he ever talks about at company parties!"

"Well I'll send Hans my apologies, but Isabelle specifically requested Jim."

"Isabelle?" he asked incredulously. "You're on a first name basis with a millionaire Heiress now?"

She arched an eyebrow at him and coyly replied, "Wouldn't you be too after uncovering a story like this?"

Artie let out a low whistle. "You never cease to amaze me…"

With a light laugh, Chloe carefully gathered the article and photos from his desk and made to quit the room. "Nice to know I'm worth my paycheck—see you 'round, Arthur!"


	34. Chapter 34

_**East Side Slums, **_**December 7, 2009.** Leroy was alerted to the upcoming article in the 'Metropolan' by Jacob, who quietly passed him a rough copy before slipping out of the office, somehow knowing his boss would want to be left alone. How Jacob got a hold of the piece he never knew, nor did he care after learning what exactly it contained. Uncle stared at the picture behind the headline; it was a framed photograph of a young family in the early 80's, lying on a white drop cloth next to a red journal. He read through the article once, arriving at the conclusion in a state of disbelief, then he read it again. It was too fact-based and precise _not_ to be true. Charles Nonte was the man who'd destroyed Aaron Russell's business and who ultimately had a hand in his death; he was the arsonist of the East Side Slums.

And just as it had at his father's funeral, the grief washed over Leroy suddenly, paralyzing him. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't fault the man's sister, Isabelle; she'd been as oblivious to her brother's actions as the rest of Metropolis until recently…yet the violent urges still lingered_. I want to do something, anything, to make her feel the pain that I've felt within me all these years because of what her brother did!_ Uncle seethed with anger, the likes of which his employees, friends and family, had never seen and he picked up the paper to read the article for a third time.

_But she's seen her share of suffering too_, Leroy noted as his temper died down, leaving him feeling deflated. He read about the tragic deaths of her family and how they'd left her all alone, and how her vast inheritance further isolated her from a better portion of society. _At least she's trying to do some good in the world with all that wealth of hers_, he thought, _Even if she's only taking an interest in the Slums to atone for her brother's sins._

Isabelle's money—it was one of the first times he'd consciously recalled someone having too _much_ money for their own good; all he'd ever seen was how the lack of wealth affected people and, as such, he'd never thought about the reverse situation. Uncle gazed again upon a black and white photograph nestled in amongst the pages of the article. It was taken by one James P. Olsen and it depicted Isabelle Nonte in simple jeans and a t-shirt, her hands wrapped around one knee while her other leg was tucked underneath her; she looked almost flawless with her professionally done make-up and hair and her stylish, albeit simple, clothes—yet the photographer had been able to capture all of the haunting pain and sorrow that dwelt in her dark eyes—the type of sadness that people rarely displayed and which she now flaunted boldly in this simple portrait for all to view.

If it weren't for his own grief, Leroy believed he might have felt something akin to pity for her.

But he didn't.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**December 19, 2009. **For the last few weeks, Chloe had been waltzing around the apartment on Cloud 9; her engagement to Jim, the overwhelming success of her article by her colleagues in the office and the holiday season made her usually cheerful demeanor all the more sunny. She was now busy decorating a batch of sugar cookies as Jim pulled another piping hot tray from the oven and set them on the counter to cool.

It was obvious to anyone who met them that the young couple was enjoying their first Christmas together and that they were in the full throes of the holiday spirit, much to Lois' annoyance.

"Just you wait," she said to the two of them, admonishing them after she caught them making out under the mistletoe in the _Daily Planet_ bullpen, "Just you two wait until you have kids. You want to make the holiday special for them, so what do you do after spending 10+ hours at work? You go home and decorate the house to high heaven, bake the cookies, sing the songs, read the stories…and _THEN_ you're expected to join the fray at all the toy stores trying to buy all the popular action figures and games, pitting yourself against other hyper-crazed mothers who are doing the same for their kids and are trying to tear the new Mr. Sky Captain board game out of your hot little hands. It's madness, sheer MADNESS!!" she finished, screaming and clutching at her chestnut hair. Jim and Chloe looked at each other eyes wide with fright when Clark sidled up behind his wife and started rubbing the knots out of her shoulders.

"We had, uh, kind of a bad experience at the m-mall yesterday. Forgive her, she doesn't mean it." The young couple had backed out of the bullpen slowly after that outburst and were careful to keep their holiday cheer in check around their less-than-enthusiastic reporter friend.

Jim and Chloe each surreptitiously eyed the clock that morning as they worked on the cookies, noting to themselves that it was nearly 11 am on the last Saturday shopping day before the holiday.

"So," Chloe started to say, as she spread more frosting on yet another snowman. "Did you get all your shopping done?"

"Most of it," Jim answered casually as he carefully scraped the cookies off the pan with a spatula. "You?"

"Mostly." A thoughtful silence fell over them until Jim re-joined her at the table. "Are you still planning on going over to the gym to play basketball with Clark later?"

"That's the plan, yes." He picked up a frosted Christmas tree and began dotting it with mini M&M ornaments. "Are you still going out to lunch with Lois?"

"Yes."

He put the cookie down and looked over at her curiously. "I wonder who they got to watch the kids?"

"Oh, I think Lois said something about Ella taking them to Santa's Village in the park."

They went about their work a few moments longer, sneaking glances at the clock on the wall from the corner of their eyes. Jim spoke up next.

"What do you say we wrap these cookies up and finish decorating them later, when we get home? Because I really need to pack my gym bag and head over to the…"

"Right, right, and I need to shower before I meet Lois…"

"So we'll just leave this for later then?"

Chloe nodded. "Yep, later sounds fine." They had barely covered their project with plastic wrap when they all but bolted from the kitchen table to get ready for their respective afternoons out.

* * *

"Remind me again why we're at the Travel Agency instead of the gym?" Clark asked once more as he sat around in his sweat pants and ratty, old yellow t-shirt, pushing the glasses back up onto his face and feeling wholly out of place.

"Because, it's for my last gift for Chloe, and this was the only time I could do it without arousing suspicion."

"Right…and what gift would that be again?"

Jim looked at his friend with the basketball clutched to his hip and rolled his eyes. "Clark, for the last time—I'm arranging a honeymoon trip for me and Chloe!" He sighed and shook his head as they waited for an agent to become free. Clark watched as he pulled a well-worn brochure out of his gym bag. "You see, when we were discussing honeymoon options she fell in love with this ten day cruise around the Mediterranean. I fibbed and told her it was out of our budget so that I could get it for her as part of her Christmas present, that way it would be a surprise!"

"Oh, I see."

"Yeah, and I'm going to wrap up this brochure along with two tickets to put under the tree. Well, maybe not _this_ particular one," he quipped as he bent to retrieve the front page from where it had separated and fallen beneath his chair.

"I think she'll really like it, Jim," Clark said sincerely.

"I hope so. I mean, I know we've talked about the wedding and made some more decisions since November, but she still isn't _as_ enthusiastic about the details as I am, and I'm hoping this makes her more excited about our Big Day."

"For the last time, she _is _excited, so why do you keep saying that?"

He shrugged his shoulders and twisted the poor brochure nervously in his hands once again. "I don't know."

Clark eyed the man beside him almost as if he were x-raying him. "Jim, are you _nervous_ about the wedding?"

"I just don't want to disappoint her, that's all!" he cried out suddenly. "I keep having this nagging feeling that she's going to look over at me some day when we're in the middle of planning and say 'Huh, yeah right, you're not worth the hassle' and call the whole thing off!" Clark could hear Jim's heart rate skyrocket as the blood rushed to his face while his anxieties took hold. He placed a broad hand on his friend's shoulder to calm him down.

"She's not going to do that."

"But you don't know that!"

"Look at me," Clark ordered him. Jim did as he was told. "Chloe is NOT going to do that. She loves you and she knows she's marrying one of the last good guys in the City; I've known her for nearly twenty years so trust me when I tell you that she is NOT going to leave you."

"I guess I do know that," he replied in a small, defeated-sounding voice. "It's kind of a lousy time for me to start having abandonment issues, huh?"

"Number 27!" a male voice called out from the speakers overhead. "Number 27, we have an agent free for you!" Jim glanced down at his ticket.

"That's us."

"Come on," Clark said reassuringly, a large smile on his face as he got to his feet. "Let's go make your Christmas AND your honeymoon." For some reason, Clark's tone did the trick and Jim started grinning again as he got up to head over to the desk of the nearest, available ticket agent to book their travel plans.

* * *

"Remind me again why it's such a big secret that we're here trying on your wedding dress?"

"Because it's my _WEDDING DRESS_!!" Chloe squealed delightedly as the attendant carried over a large, white garment bag on a hanger.

"So why did I tell Clark that we were going out to lunch instead of here?"

"Lois, for the last time: Jim still thinks I'm not fully on board with the wedding plans and, as my final gift to him, I want to show him a picture of _a_ wedding dress so that he knows that I bought one and that I'm committed to our trip down the aisle."

"Right, right...so how did you find this place, anyway?" Lois said, looking around at her surroundings as Chloe stepped into the changing room to try on the dress again.

"Well you won't believe it…I was walking by here Wednesday on my way home from doing some Christmas shopping, when I saw this dress in the window. I knew before I even set foot in the shop that this was the one; luckily it fit like a glove!" Lois heard a zipper pulled before Chloe piped up again. "I thought it was going to take me _months_ to find the perfect dress!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Sometimes it just happens like that," her friend replied, smiling broadly at how happy the bride-to-be sounded from behind the curtain.

Some moments later, Chloe's voice rang out again. "Ok, are you ready for me?"

"Yep, come on out…" but the words were no sooner out of Lois' mouth when Chloe stepped out into the viewing area and onto the small platform in front of the three-piece mirror.

She was right: the dress was absolutely perfect, and Lois stood agape at how beautiful her friend looked. It was a strapless dress made of white satin with a gold bow around the waist that tied in the back—the hem of the dress skimmed the floor and had a very short train at the back. There was no embroidery, no jewels or baubles adorning it, no extra fabric fashionably folded anywhere; it was a simple, clean and elegant wedding dress that was perfectly suited to the style and temperament of the woman wearing it. Lois stood up out of her chair and walked around Chloe, admiring the dress as her friend watched her, waiting for approval.

"Oh Chloe," Lois gasped.

"Yes?"

"It's beautiful…Jim isn't going to know what hit him when he sees you in this!" she squealed, finally joining in Chloe's delight. The young woman hopped down from the platform and into Lois' arms for a hug, both women laughing and crying happy tears.

* * *

Several hours later, the young couple sat at their kitchen table decorating the sugar cookies once again, with two new presents wrapped and tucked away under the short, squat tree that dominated the only vacant corner in their living room.

"How was lunch with Lois?" Jim asked casually as he spread red frosting on a cookie shaped like an ornament.

"It was nice…better then nice actually," she replied, grinning in spite of herself. "How was basketball?"

"Same old, same old," he said quickly. "Still kicking Clark's butt. I don't know how I do it, the guy is so tall that all he'd have to do is reach out a hand and block me but he moves so slow." Jim smiled a secretive little smile too as he avoided her eyes, thinking of the package tucked away with two cruise tickets, one of which had 'Chloe Olsen's' name on it.

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, tasting like frosting. "I'm glad you had a good day."

He responded with a kiss of his own which was equally sugary. "I'm glad you had a good day too."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**December 24, 2009, 11:47 pm. **Jim and Chloe had finished their turkey dinner hours before, calling their families shortly thereafter to wish them a 'Happy Holiday', and were now sitting on the sofa, two half-empty glasses of wine on the coffee table in front of them. Chloe leaned forward and raised the glass to her lips, taking a generous sip before re-settling herself against Jim's chest while his arm draped around her shoulders. A brief silence fell over them and the sound of Christmas music from the apartment upstairs drifted down into their living room.

"Ok, I'm sorry, I can't wait any longer, there's one gift that I _really_ want you to open now," Chloe exclaimed, sitting bolt upright and looking him in the eye with a smile that encompassed half her face.

He blushed and shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be fair; it'd be breaking tradition to open a Christmas gift when it wasn't Christmas yet!"

"Jim, it's 11:48 pm. It'll be Christmas in twelve minutes…heck, it's already Christmas in half the world! Besides, why can't we start a tradition of our own by agreeing to open one present apiece the night before?"

He glanced over at her as he brought the wine glass down from his lips. "You were the kid that would pounce on her parents at 5 am and demand to see what Santa brought, weren't you, Bug?" he asked teasingly, employing her old family nickname.

Now it was her turn to blush. "It was 5:30 am, and yes, I was. Now can we _please_ open _one_ present??" she begged.

"Alright, alright," he relented, "But only if I get to choose the present that you get to open and vice versa."

"Agreed!" she shouted with glee as she dove off the couch to reach behind the tree to where her special gift was hidden. Jim did likewise, albeit at a much more leisurely pace, and soon they were kneeling before each other on the living room floor, each with a gift in their hands. A quick exchange and Chloe began tearing off the bright red wrapping paper from her present as if there were no tomorrow, while her fiancée took his time pulling the silver paper and bow off his own.

When she pulled the top of the box off and saw the gift inside, Chloe sat down hard on the floor in shock. "Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were beginning to well up with happy tears as they darted back and forth from Jim to the tickets and back again several times. "You didn't!"

"I did."

"But how? When? I thought you said…"

"I said that just to throw you off the scent, Sweetheart. I went to the travel agent on Saturday to book the trip—I took Clark with me because we were supposed to be playing basketball and he didn't know what I really had in mind. I told you all that other stuff about how we couldn't afford it because I wanted to see you as surprised as you are now." He winked at her playfully as she sat there, still stunned.

Without warning, she sprang up and into his arms, knocking him to the floor and peppering his face with kisses. "I can't believe you did this! Our honeymoon! Oh Jim this is wonderful, it's the best Christmas present I've ever gotten, even better then the Barbie doll playhouse Santa left me when I was seven! Oh I can't believe you were such a sneak and did this for us! Oh my gosh…" she yammered on.

He winked up at her mischievously, from where he lay on his back on the floor. "So I take it you like your gift then?"

"If you hadn't already asked me to marry you I'd have popped the question right here and now myself. You are the most wonderful, charming, thoughtful, loving…"

"Stop!" he cried out, blushing profusely. "Chloe Sullivan, you sure do know how to charm a man."

"And distract him, apparently. Now hurry up and open your gift!" she squealed delightedly as she scrambled up to get his present. He shook the small box once more in his hands, drawing out her torment as her eyes went wide in anticipation.

"Hmmm…is it a lens cap for my camera?"

She shook her head.

"Is it membership passes to the museum?"

Again Chloe shook her head, no.

"Is it…a pair of shoelaces for my basketball sneakers?"

"Jim, come on! Be serious and open the package already!"

He opened the top of the box and pulled out a 6" cardboard cut-out of a wedding dress from one of her bridal magazines. Screwing up his lips as if in serious thought, he deadpanned, "I'm not sure that this is my size."

Ignoring his sarcasm, she said to him, "Read the back."

He flipped the paper dress over and saw a note penned in her neat hand. "_Jim—I've bought my dress and can't wait to meet you at the altar on May 22 to become your wife. I hope you're as happy as I am about our future together. Love, Chloe_"

_She really wants to marry me!_ He thought giddily as he read and re-read her message while she batted her pretty green eyes, waiting for his reaction. _I can't believe I ever doubted that…_"I can't believe you bought a dress! You bought a dress for _our _wedding! When? Where? Who went with you?"

Chloe threw back her head and laughed heartily, glad that he was so thrilled by his present. Finally catching her breath, she answered him, "Ok, now you're really going to find this funny. You know how I was supposed to meet Lois for lunch on Saturday? Well, I really dragged her off to this boutique to look at the dress I'd already bought a few days earlier; I wanted a second opinion."

"I can't believe this…" he muttered again, still in a mild state of shock.

"Well believe it, because with a dress and a honeymoon all squared away, we are really getting married, Jim."

"We're really getting married," he repeated dumbly, positively beaming with joy. Less than a second later, his lips searched for hers and they kissed hard and long on the living room floor, while the clock in the kitchen struck midnight, officially announcing that their first Christmas together had arrived.


	35. Chapter 35

_**East Side Slums, **_**January 4, 2010. **"I'd like to have a word with Uncle, if I may," Parker asked as he came across Jacob in the halls of the lower level of the warehouse.

Jacob held onto the clipboard and sized the man up with his eyes, trying to determine if there was an air of trouble about him. It was one of the reasons why Leroy kept Jacob on in his particular post, because hew as good at deflecting the problem people away from his door. Parker stood relaxed in his jeans and poofy black jacket, arms clasped before him, as he waited for an answer. The younger man nodded his head. "Follow me."

They wended their way down several corridors before arriving at a small waiting area with several stiff-backed wooden chairs. "If you'll have a seat here," Jacob intoned before disappearing down another corridor. Parker sat down, his palms on his knees, feeling wholly uncomfortable; he got the eerie feeling that he was being watched, but how and by whom was anyone's guess, as the sparse space left little cover for any video monitoring devices. Still, these moments were the most unnerving for him when it came to dealing with Uncle.

Jacob re-emerged and showed the grizzled older man into Uncle's office, where his employer sat behind his desk. "Yes Parker, I understand you wanted to see me? Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the plush leather chair before him as he dismissed Jacob.

"Yes Sir…you see, I have some…" He thought best how to phrase it. "Some friends."

Leroy's eyebrows shot up. "Friends?"

"Yes Sir…anyhow, they're currently in the Middle East on business, and they just got word to me that there are some dealers there looking to move a large quantity of heroin out of the country at a very reasonable price. I was hoping to get your permission to go abroad, find out for myself whether this deal was as good as my friends claim it is."

Parker watched as Uncle considered the requests for several minutes, staring off in the distance all the while. "These friends of yours," he asked suddenly, startling his employee. "How trustworthy are they?"

"How trustworthy? Uncle, after my own crew I'd trust them with my life," he answered without hesitation.

"Let me see what I can do…I'll get back to you in a few days about this. And thank you for bringing it to my attention."

"You're welcome," Parker replied, rising out of his chair and showing himself the door, glad to have earned such high praise from a man who normally didn't have much to give.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**January 14, 2010. **"Hi Chloe," Jim said calmly into the receiver of his work phone.

"Jim! You're not supposed to still be at work! Why aren't you in a cab headed to the train station yet?"

He rolled his eyes at her tone. "Because I was just on my way out when I heard the phone ring and I came back to answer it, knowing it was you."

His fiancee was quiet for a moment, then, "Oh."

"Don't worry Honey…so, did your Dad's plane get in ok?"

"No, it looks like there was a thirty minute delay, so I'm still waiting here at the airport for him."

* * *

"Hmm. I wonder why he and Mrs. Kent didn't fly out here together?" he asked, puzzled. Jim was completely engrossed in his own conversation and remained oblivious to Clark's head jerking up sharply at the mention of his mother. She was safely stashed away in their apartment, watching Haley after having traded days with Ella since she 'just happened to be in town' to attend Chloe and Jim's engagement party. Clark and Chloe had agreed that he should fly Martha in for the party while letting Ian take a commercial flight out of Kansas, or else risk arousing suspicion as to why Superman was giving free trips for residents of Smallville heading to Metropolis that weekend, no questions asked.

Chloe quickly covered for him. "I believe she had to take care of some things on the farm, so she had to fly out later then Dad did," she fibbed. Clark sighed quietly at the small, white lie and went back to his work.

* * *

"I understand. Ok, I'm going to head over to the train station and meet Brian, Jenny, Josh and Mom while you're waiting for your father, and we'll all meet back at the Ottman for an early dinner…that is the game plan, right?"

"Yes it is…now as far as tomorrow's schedule goes, we're meeting my aunt, uncle and cousins from New York late in the morning since they're driving in, and your uncle should arrive with your grandparents from Maryland around the same time…we also have to remember to call the Biltmore to make sure there aren't any last minute glitches with the facility or the menu…then after that, we need to pick up the twins from the train station in the early evening and meet everyone back at Rodney's Steak House for a dinner with all the out-of-town guests…"

Jim's head was starting to spin with all the last minute preparations…_and this is only the engagement party we're talking about here! Oy vey!_ He could hear his fiancée beginning to tense up over the phone and he urged her to calm down. "Breathe Honey, just breathe, we're going to get through this just fine…in three days this will all be over and done with and we'll be that much closer to the wedding."

He listened to her inhale and exhale on the other end of the line. "I know, I know…ok, I'm going to let you get going so you're not five minutes late picking up your mother, Heaven forbid we give her something else to worry about…Oh! I almost forgot to remind you, don't forget to pick up your good suit from the dry cleaners sometime today too!"

"Ha ha ha! Good call. Ok, I love you and I'll see you in a little while."

"Love you too, bye!"

* * *

Forty minutes after Jim left the office, Clark heard the sounds of a wildly careening car in the midst of downtown traffic. He rose up from his chair unnoticed and dashed out onto the roof, spinning into the suit and speeding off toward the vehicle to prevent an accident.

* * *

Chloe and her father sat in the back of the cab at a stop light, chatting amiably about the upcoming party as they made their way to join half of the Olsen clan at the Ottman Hotel. She sat facing her father and reminding him of all the names of Jim's siblings when the light turned green.

"Bug, I like your mother-in-law well enough so far, but did she have to go naming all her children with J names? It's a bit psychotic…"

She was about to come back with a sarcastic reply when they reached the middle of the intersection; that's when she spotted the silver sedan speed through its red light, heading straight for her father's door. "DAD, WATCH OUT!!" Chloe screamed, throwing her arms around him and pulling his head down along with her own as they braced themselves for the impact.

But instead of the sickening crunch metal on metal and glass breaking, all the cab's occupants heard was a dull thud. When they had managed to unfurl themselves from their crouched position, where the front end of the sedan should have been, they saw the back of a red cape flapping inches away from their window. Turning around, Superman peered into the cab and Ian Sullivan hastily rolled down his window in shock and disbelief.

"Is everyone alright in here?" Clark asked. Chloe quickly noticed the corners of his mouth pinch as he struggled to repress a grin once he recognized the passengers of the taxi.

Ian and the cabbie stared slack-jawed into the face of the Man of Steel; it was up to Chloe to speak for all three. "We're fine, Superman. Thank you very much for your help."

"My pleasure, Miss," the Man of Steel replied, about to turn back to the other vehicle which now had two very deep handprints indented in its hood. Looking back at Chloe's father, he added, "And welcome to Metropolis, Sir. I hope this little incident doesn't mar your entire visit to our fine City." Without another word, the Man of Steel lifted the offending car, driver and all, and flew it out of the intersection and toward the nearest police station.

"Well I'll be…" Ian said, still awed but finally recovering his voice. "Does he always just swoop in like that?"

"Pretty much," she replied nonchalantly. The cabbie moved forward so that they were no longer blocking the intersection either, and continued on toward the hotel as if nothing happened.

"Wait, how did he know that I was visiting and that you weren't?"

Chloe's eyes bugged slightly out of her head. _Clark!! Way to open your big, fat mouth!!_ Her mind raced to think of a plausible answer. "Well Dad, he probably x-rayed the trunk while he was talking to us and saw your suitcase there. He must have figured that, being a girl, I don't make a habit of wearing boxers or men's suits and so he must've assumed that you were the out-of-towner and not me."

"Amazing…absolutely amazing…wait 'til I tell the people back in Smallville that I came face-to-face with Superman…"

It took every ounce of Chloe's strength and control, not to laugh in her father's face as she recalled all the times he'd met the Man of Steel before—under the bumbling guise of one farm boy friend named Clark Kent.

* * *

The Olsen family arrived at the Ottman without incident and once Ian checked into his room and got his baggage squared away, the seven of them headed to the dining room to enjoy an early "getting to know you" dinner, all the while chatting away about Ian and Chloe's encounter with Superman. The waiter settled them into a round table near the back of the restaurant so that they might enjoy a bit more privacy and, by the time the rolls and butter were brought out from the kitchen, the conversation was flowing freely and easily between all.

Jim watched Chloe visibly relax as she saw how well everyone was getting along as the server returned to take their drink orders. He'd instructed Josh not to blindside his fiancée or his future father-in-law with his bear hugs, as was his usual custom, and she'd given Jim a smile full of gratitude in the lobby when she witnessed his younger brother's cordial and pleasant behavior.

He was ravenous and about to review the menu, when his attention was directed over to Ian and Cheryl; not that he'd worried about how the two of them would get along, but he was surprised to see how deep in discussion they already were, having only spoken to one another over the phone a handful of times.

"You two seem to have a lot to talk about," Chloe chimed in as if reading her fiancée's thoughts.

Cheryl smiled. "Yes, well, two whole days without chatting on the telephone gives a person a chance to find a lot of things _to_ talk about."

Jim furrowed his brow. "Two whole days? Just how often do you and Mr. Sullivan talk to one another, Mom?"

"Not that it's any of your business, _James_," she replied haughtily, laying her menu open before her. "But Ian and I chat just about every other day. At least _someone_ can spare the time to call me…" She gave each of her busy children the 'eye' as she spoke.

"Now Cheryl, all of our kids are fortunate enough to have successful careers that demand a lot of their time and attention, I've told you so before. We should be grateful that they're doing so well for themselves." The waiter came back and placed their drinks before them. "And _James_," he said, looking at the young man in question with a hint of mirth playing about his thin lips, "For the last time, please, call me Ian." Turning back to Cheryl, he added quietly, "It really is a tribute to you what with how polite all your children are, but I wish they weren't so formal around me; after all, we're practically family!"

Jim choked on his beer as he caught the last part of the conversation while Chloe laughed wholeheartedly. "That's just Dad being Dad for you," she said, patting him on the back.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now…"

"Yes, well, I think you'll have the rest of your life to 'get used to it', so there's no need to rush it," she said, reaching under the table and squeezing his hand while giving him a quick peck on the lips.

Cheryl brought her Cosmopolitan drink to her lips and took a sip. "Oh Sweetie," she exclaimed, turning to her daughter seated on her left, "You should try this, it's delicious!"

Jen smiled politely. "No thanks, Mom, I feel like just sticking to my lemonade tonight. Thanks though." Jim's gaze snapped up at his sister's casual refusal of the alcoholic beverage and he shot her a curious look while Cheryl turned her attention back to her son's future father-in-law. Not that Jen had ever been much of a drinker, even on social occasions, but something about her avoidance of alcohol tonight combined with the way her face radiated with health…

The realization struck him sharply and he questioned his younger sister tacitly without saying anything to arouse suspicion, searching her features for verification. She caught her brother's eye just then and gave him a shy smile before refusing to meet his gaze any longer; that, combined with the blush that rose to her cheeks and the way her hand paused over her stomach as she fumbled for her napkin, was all the proof he needed.

"Jenny's pregnant," he whispered into Chloe's ear, taking care to cover his mouth as he spoke so the others wouldn't hear him.

Now it was _her_ turn to splutter on her red wine at the shocking news, and Jim smiled slyly at her while patting her on the back until the coughing subsided. Jen excused herself and strode off toward the restroom, her ears burning crimson.

"I think I'll follow Jenny's example and go clean myself off in the ladies' room…be right back!" Chloe exclaimed cheerily as she slipped from her chair, hot on her future sister-in-law's heels. Brian looked at Jim curiously and the photographer shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head amusedly before re-joining the conversation with the rest of the table.

* * *

Chloe made sure that she and Jen were alone in the bathroom before opening her mouth. "Is it true, are you…?"

"Pregnant? Yes," Jenny replied, that same shy smile forming on her lips.

Chloe threw her arms around her future sister-in-law and held her tight. "OH MY GOSH, JENNY, CONGRATULATIONS!! That's incredible! I didn't believe Jim at first when he told me, but now that I'm looking right at you, it's as plain as day! How long have you known?! Oh you and Brian must be so thrilled!!"

Jen's smile widened. "I'm surprised nobody else has noticed, given the way Brian keeps telling me how I'm 'glowing' all the time, but we are pregnant—there's no doubt about it and we're just waiting until we're out of the woods before announcing this one," she said, patting her stomach happily as she spoke. "The doctor told us to wait three months after…" Her voice trailed off momentarily as she let loose a sad sigh, "After what happened last time, and we weren't even trying really, so that's why when I started experiencing morning sickness around Christmas-time I just thought I had a touch of the Flu. The doctor confirmed everything for us just after the New Year, and here I am, ready to make you an Auntie!"

"Oh Jenny!" she cried again before embracing her in another tight hug. Happy tears slid down the mother-to-be's cheeks.

"Stupid hormones," she muttered as Chloe led her toward the sink when another woman walked in.

"It's ok, Jim and I won't tell anyone, I promise, but we better get you cleaned up and back to the table before Cheryl comes searching for us thinking we've fallen into one of the bowls."

"HA HA HA HA HA!!" she laughed as Chloe dampened a towel and began dabbing her tear-streaked cheeks with it. "I'm so glad Jim's marrying you…"

"Yes, well he better be happy that I'm _letting_ him marry me," the bride-to-be quipped smartly, reveling in the moment.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!"

* * *

Chloe and Jim hopped in a cab outside the hotel after dinner, snuggling against one another, glad for the first few minutes of private time that they'd had all day. "I can't believe Jenny's pregnant again," Chloe announced in awe, not for the first time.

"Neither can I. It's so hard to believe that she and Brian were the way they were just a few months ago after everything happened, and now they're…"

"Happy? Ecstatic? Over the moon? Life's funny like that, Jim. I don't know how many times I have to…"

"Keep telling me that, I know, I know. Maybe one of these days I'll get it through this thick head of mine." He rapped the side of his head for extra emphasis as if he were testing a melon in the market.

She sighed a happy sigh and nuzzled further against his chest, playfully tugging on the arm that was draped across her shoulder. "Who knows, maybe someday soon we'll be as happy as Brian and Jenny."

Jim went rigid beside her and stared down at the top of her blond head. "You're not trying to tell me something, are you?" he squeaked, his stomach tying itself in knots at the thought.

"What?" She sat back up and looked into his eyes quizzically, not fully catching his meaning until she saw him glancing at her abdomen. "Oh my God! You think I'm…" He nodded before she could finish the sentence. "No, I'm not, I'm definitely not."

He exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Ok, wow, because for a minute there I was really worried…"

Chloe backed away and sat up straight on her side of the cab, fire blazing in her verdant gaze. "What does _**that**_ mean? What if I _was_ pregnant, what would you have said then?"

"I don't know what I would've said."

She grew angrier at his non-answer. "Don't you _want_ to have kids, Jim?"

"What?! No!" He watched as her face fell before realizing what he'd said. "WAIT! That didn't come out right, I mean…" he started to say as the cab pulled up to the curb by their apartment. Chloe got out in a huff, leaving him to settle with the driver before he could scurry after her.

Five minutes later Jim burst through the door after fiddling with his keys, Chloe having locked the door behind her when she'd entered earlier. He heard the running water coming from the bathroom and rushed in that direction, knocking on the door first before trying the handle and finding that it too had been locked.

"CHLOE! Chloe, come on, let's talk about this! I think you misunderstood what I said in the cab…"

He could hear her turn the sink off before she flung the door open, wiping the side of her mouth with the sleeve of her pajamas. "OH NO, I think I understood you _perfectly_!" she cried out, storming past him back into the bedroom.

He followed after her. "No, _Sweetheart_, I don't think you did…" Jim insisted through gritted teeth. He was about to enter the bedroom when his pajamas and pillow were flung unceremoniously into his face. "What's this for?!" he cried out in annoyance.

"_THIS_ is to ensure that there's no chance of conceiving any unwanted kids tonight! You're sleeping on the couch!" She slammed the door in his face.

Jim threw his head back, staring straight at the ceiling as he cried out to the heavens in frustration. Dropping the pillow and clothes unceremoniously by his side, he placed his left hand on the door and started banging loudly with his right fist, demanding to be let in. "COME ON, CHLOE! CAN'T WE TALK ABOUT THIS?! CHLOE, OPEN THE DOOR!"

"GOOD NIGHT, _JAMES_," she said angrily from behind the door. He heard the click of the lamp as she turned off the device on the nightstand and the rustle of blankets as she crawled beneath the sheets.

"UGH!" He gave the door one last, hard hit before he gave up and retrieved his bed clothes and pillow, preparing for an unpleasant night's sleep on the sofa.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**January 15, 2010, 7:25 am. **She blearily opened one eye to look at the alarm clock, trying to discern what time it was as she lay on her stomach on her side of the bed. In spite of having kicked Jim out the night before and having free reign of the entire mattress, her body refused to sprawl out into the space he normally occupied. Waking up five minutes ahead of schedule, Chloe rolled over onto her side and prepared to sit up when the smell of coffee reached her nose. The realization that the space next to her _was occupied _made her heart skip a beat in panic.

Jim folded the _Daily Planet_ on his lap and casually extended a mug out to her. "Milk, no sugar," he said by way of explanation, as if nothing had happened the night before. She eyed the drink suspiciously before sitting up and taking a sip. "Are you awake now?" he asked. Chloe nodded her head. "Good, because there's something I need to say and I'd like you to listen—and I mean _really _listen—without interruption. Got it?" She nodded again, still too stunned by his attitude to speak.

"I didn't appreciate having to sleep on the sofa last night, Clo, it was the single, most uncomfortable night's rest of my life—if you can even call it resting. I also didn't appreciate how angry you were with me, especially because you wouldn't even let me explain myself. Now, I know you're under a lot of stress with all of our relatives in town for this engagement party, but taking it out on me isn't going to help things any. Agreed?"

"Agreed, but…"

He held up a hand. "Just one minute, please. I'm not finished."

"Sorry," she mumbled, retreating and taking another sip of her coffee.

"I want kids, Chloe. Growing up with as many silbings as I did, I wasn't sure that I'd ever want kids; but now I know I for certain that I do. I've known since I've met you that I've wanted kids—one for sure, two would be nice, three maybe. I knew in the middle of our first date that I loved you, and that if we ever did get together, we would make some of the most beautiful babies in the world.

"I also know that I want to get married and enjoy that married life with you before we have any of those beautiful babies. So I'm sorry that I panicked last night when I thought you were pregnant; it's not that I don't _want_ to have children with you, I just don't want to have them _yet_."

She set the mug down on the nightstand and stared up into his earnest face. "I'm sorry I snapped at you last night; you're right, the stress is getting to me, and I took it out on you. When it sounded like you said you didn't want to have kids last night I just reacted—I didn't even think. It's just...well, I'm not getting any younger…"

"You're only 34!" he rushed to say. "And you don't look a day over 28!"

She smiled at him. "Flatterer. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to be 35 in a few months and I would like to have kids before it's too late. I waited so long to find you, Mr. Right," she said, reaching out and intertwining her hand with his, "That when I thought you said you didn't want children the bottom of my stomach fell out; not only because I _do_ want them, but because I had always imagined that with you as their father, our children would be the kindest and handsomest children on the planet."

"Now who's flattering whom?" he asked boldly, nuzzling the side of her neck with his nose and wrapping his arm suggestively around her waist.

"Oh no, none of that now, Mister—we've got a million and one things to do today and baby-making is _not_ one of them. Little Olsen will have to wait, even if it's only nine months to the day after our wedding …is that understood?" He nodded solemnly while trying to suppress a laugh. "Alright then, that's settled...now out of my way, we need to get a move on before the rest of our relatives get here…"


	36. Chapter 36

_**East Side Slums**_**, January 8, 2010. **"Uncle's given you the go ahead to make the deal—he says to pack your things, you're leaving tonight at 2300 hours," Jacob informed the older drug runner as he casually passed the street corner where the man stood leaning against the brick wall of the building. Parker nonchalantly continued picking under his finger nails, a slight nod of the head the only perceptible indication that anything had been said to him at all. Fifteen minutes later, he moved to speak to an associate halfway down the block and then he simply walked away.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**January 15, 2010 3:45 pm.** "Hey! Where are you?" Jim asked when Chloe finally answered her cell phone.

"I just got back to the apartment, why?"

"Just checking, that's where I'm headed too."

"I thought you were spending time with your family, showing them around the City and whatnot?"

Jim leaned against the taxi window, trying to get comfortable. "Well let's see: Josh is meeting with one of his comic book distributors while Brian and Jen snuck off to do some baby shopping while telling everyone else they were going to walk around the City and maybe take in a show. Grandma and Grandpa went back to the hotel to take a nap before dinner and Mom and Uncle Jeremy thought it'd be nice to take a historical bus tour of Metropolis, leaving me free until 5:30 when I have to go pick up the twins from the train station. Now let me ask _you_ the same question: why aren't you spending time with _your_ family?"

* * *

"Hmmm..." Chloe curled up on the sofa with the phone in her hand, staring outside at the gray January sky. "Well, it sounds to me like your Mom and Uncle planned to be on the same bus tour as my Dad, Aunt Ellen and Uncle Tom, so that should be interesting…as for Anne and Paul, they actually decided to head over to the Vanderworth Museum. They invited me to tag along but after spending a whole morning with them, I was reminded why I only see them a few times a year—they're boring as all get out. I politely declined on the premise that I had errands to run before the party tomorrow."

"I thought we did have errands?" he inquired curiously.

"So did I, but it turns out that the Biltmore has everything under control; there's nothing else we really need to do in preparation for the party tomorrow except show up…and here I was worrying myself to death over all the logistics and details and everything is actually running smoothly for a change; how's that for irony?"

* * *

The cab driver stopped in front of his building. "Hey Hun? I'm just outside now; I'll be up in a second. Will you leave the door unlocked for me?"

"Sure."

Jim hung up the phone and paid the driver, an idea beginning to take hold in his mind. Little did he know that his intrepid fiancée was entertaining the exact same thought…

* * *

"Chloe, I've been thinking, and just bear with me here," he said as he burst into the apartment, quickly shedding his overcoat. Jim stopped in mid-thought when he saw the opaque, zippered garment bag hanging outside the closet door. "What's this?" he asked, pointing at the object.

She turned around to face him from her seat on the couch, knowing full well what it was that he was referring to. "It's my wedding dress. I was on my way back from dropping off Paul and Anne when I felt like picking it up from the Boutique. I don't know why, really…I mean, the people at the store said they'd hold onto it for me until closer to the wedding, but for some reason I guess I just wanted to have it near me."

At her words, Jim went still with shock just inside the doorway before shaking himself out of it; he hastily hung up his coat and made his way to her side. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, he took both of her hands in his, saying, "You know I love you more than anything, right?"

"Right…" she said, eying him curiously and wondering where he was going with this.

"And I'm all for having a big family wedding, because if that's what you want then that's what I want, because it's your Big Day."

"_Our_ Big Day," she corrected him.

"Right, ok, but what I'm trying to get at here is that maybe we should re-think this a bit. I mean—if the engagement party is _this_ stressful and it's just a party—think of how much worse it's going to get before the wedding in May? We've been arguing more so than usual lately, last night included, and by the time the wedding rolls around the sniping will only get worse; I know you don't want that, and I know I don't want that, so I was thinking that maybe we should…"

"Elope?" Chloe finished for him, looking less surprised by the proposal than Jim was expecting.

Her fiancée looked as though he could have been bowled over by a feather. "But of course, if that's not what you want then that's not what I want either…"

Chloe leaned over and captured his lips with hers to silence him. "Amazingly enough I was just thinking the same thing. I don't like what this whole process is doing to me: stressing me out, making me crazy…"

"Us, Love, us…it's stressing _us_ out and making _us_ crazy," he corrected her.

"Right, us, not to mention that we do have the afternoon off…I have my dress, you have your good suit…City Hall is only twenty minutes away…"

"And," he added, trying to seal the deal, "We'll be able to celebrate with those who matter most to us at the party on Saturday! It'll just be a wedding reception instead of an engagement party, only they won't know!"

"Then what are we waiting for?! I don't care about the hoopla, Jim, all I want is to marry you so let's do it already! Besides, I think it'd be worth it to see the look on everyone's faces, don't you?" she asked mischievously, smiling and looking more like her old self as the stress and tension of the past few days began to melt away.

He leapt up off the couch, grasping her hand in his and pulling her to her feet. "I'll go change into my suit while you grab what you need so you can change at City Hall; I don't want to see you in that dress until we're standing before a judge—it's bad luck otherwise—and then we'll just go!" Jim was halfway down the hall before he stopped and turned back to his fiancée; he took Chloe's face in his hands, kissing his bride-to-be in a manner most would consider indecent were it done in public. "Chloe Sullivan, I love you. YOU HEAR THAT WORLD?!" he cried out, turning to face the closed living room windows, "I LOVE HER!"

"Silly man," she chided as she patted his chest. "I love you too! Now get going, we're only wasting more time!"

"Right, sorry, be back in two minutes!" and he bolted off down the hall again as if his feet had sprung wings.

Five minutes later, they were packed and ready to go, standing on the curb trying to hail a taxi to take them to City Hall so they could legally become husband and wife.

* * *

**4:29 pm**. Clark was returning to the Daily Planet after helping end a hostage situation in Maine when he heard familiar voices drifting up from the streets below. Slowing down, he scanned the area beneath him until he found the source—there was Chloe, with Jim close on her heels, discussing something as they dashed up the steps to City Hall with two bags, a brand-new ring box and a small bouquet of flowers.

"Did you remember to ask Josh to pick up the twins at the train station?" she asked, clutching his hand as they made their way to the front door.

"Yes I did, while you were in the flower shop. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell him why I needed him to pick them up even though he asked at least half a dozen times; I just told him that there was something I had to take care of that couldn't wait and that we'd see everybody tonight at Rodney's."

"Phew! Ok, that's good; don't get me wrong, I love your brother but he doesn't strike me as the type of guy who could keep a secret for long…especially a secret _this big_."

"Boy, have you got him pegged. Good call with the rings too—I had completely forgotten about them. Alright, now all we need to do is find the clerk's office and get a marriage license before you change and we can get hitched, right?" Jim asked as they pushed through the front doors. Clark tuned out of the rest of their conversation as he whipped out the cell phone he kept clipped to his belt.

"Good afternoon, _Daily Planet,_ Lois Lane-Kent speaking."

"Lois, it's me. Can you get away from the office now and meet me at home? I'll pick up the kids from your mother's; trust me, it's _very_ important that you hurry home as quickly as you can…"

"Ok, sure, but can you tell me why? The kids are ok, aren't they? Wait, are you ok? Clark, answer me, please, you're starting to scare me a little…"

"Sorry Sweetheart, no time to explain, but as far as I'm aware we're all healthy. See you at home in a little bit, bye!" He felt marginally guilty for hanging up so suddenly but he was quickly bolstered by his new mission. He raced over to the _Planet_ to retrieve his three-piece suit before soaring over to the Base to collect Jason and Haley from his mother and father-in-law's.

* * *

**4:50 pm.** "Oh good, you didn't spill anything on your suit today," Clark said by way of a greeting as soon as his wife walked in the door. She saw that he had dressed Jason and Haley in their nice clothes and bundled them up in their winter jackets, ready for an outing. Jason held one of his father's nicer work suits folded up in his outstretched arms, as Clark stood nearby in full Superman regalia.

She reflexively smoothed a hand over the front of her favorite, purple skirt suit. "No, I didn't spill anything; now Clark, will you _please_ tell me what in the world is going on here?!" she asked angrily, hand on her hip.

"Chloe and Jim are eloping, _right_ _now_."

Lois' mouth fell open at the news. "Noooo!" she answered in disbelief. "Really?! Right now?! Where?"

He nodded, his hair falling forward and mussing up his regal Kryptonian curl. "City Hall and we're going to go there and stop them. I left Mom a note so she'll know where we've flown off to when she gets back from shopping; now I'm going to take you and Haley first, then I'll come back here for Jason and we'll meet you inside, wherever it is that the Justice of the Peace usually conducts marriage ceremonies…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you mean 'stop them'? I may not have known Chloe as long as you have, but I've seen her and Jim together and I'm pretty sure that neither of them strong-armed the other into doing this…maybe this is what they really, truly want, have you thought about that? Besides, what right do we have to stop them?"

Clark rethought his choice of words at his wife's compelling argument. "Ok, maybe _stop_ was the wrong word to use, but as their friends I think we should at least go there and talk to them, make sure that this is what they want and not just some spur of the moment decision that they're going to regret later."

"I agree." Lois strode over and picked up her daughter, balancing her on a hip with one arm while clutching the fold-up stroller in her free hand. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

* * *

**4:48 pm. **Chloe stood in her wedding gown just outside the Judge's chambers, feeling a little foolish for wearing a strapless gown in the middle of winter. _Then again, how could I have known that I'd be eloping?_ She continued to worry to herself as she paced outside of Judge Dryver's office. He was a delightful, older, Southern gentleman who'd been preparing to get an early start on his weekend when they'd burst in on him ten minutes earlier, the ink not yet dry on their marriage license. He agreed to marry them after quickly ensuring that their paperwork was in order and that they were truly in earnest about getting married and not just doing this on a whim. She rapped lightly at the door. "Are you ready for me in there?" she called out to her waiting groom. _Who knew that eloping could feel so right?_ she thought with a smile as she paused to hear their response.

* * *

Jim nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice and the elderly man before him gently rested a hand on his shoulder while giving him a reassuring smile.

"We sure are Darlin'," Judge Dryver called out in his twangy, Southern drawl. He looked over at his secretary, Marlene, who was to bear witness to the ceremony, and with a quick nod of his head a recorded version of the wedding march filled the air. Chloe pushed on the solid oak door, and it easily fell open just wide enough to admit her. She steadied herself with a calming breath and readjusted her grip on her bouquet before beginning her leisurely walk down the 'aisle' created by the Judge's desk and several bookshelves.

The young photographer stared wide-eyed at his bride, unable to recall ever having seen her look lovelier. Her gown clung to her svelte figure in all the right places, not a hair was out of place, her make-up was flawless…and only his Chloe would dare to fix him with her "come hither" grin at _their_ wedding. He snapped a quick picture of her with the small digital camera he had stashed in his left jacket pocket, before reflexively feeling for the rings in the pocket on his right. Jim had just enough time to tuck the camera out of sight before Chloe joined him in front of Judge Dryver; he reached out to grasp her delicate hand in his larger one and they both turned to face the officiate.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is a state honorable among all men…"

"Wait! We object!" Clark cried out, striding into the room with Lois by his side, pushing Haley before her in her stroller while Jason stood on the other side of his father.

"What on Earth…?!" Jim asked incredulously as his gaze fell upon the young family. "How did you guys know we were here?"

The Judge nearly dropped his book in surprise. "Well I never…"

"Guys, may we speak to you for just one minute?" Clark asked pleadingly. Jim and Chloe looked at each other before shrugging in acquiescence. Lois quickly took Chloe by the arm and gently pulled her away from her groom while pushing Haley ahead of her; their heads bent together in quiet conversation as she steered her friend towards the corner of the room.

* * *

Clark watched his wife and childhood friend for a second before draping his heavy arm across Jim's shoulders in a brotherly fashion. Jim looked panicked for a moment before he realized that his friend wanted nothing more sinister than a quick pre-nuptial chat. "What happened to having a formal ceremony where your family and friends could participate? I thought that's what you two had planned; don't you want that? Your brothers acting as your groomsmen, Chloe's father walking her down the aisle…"

"I appreciate your concern, CK, really I do, and I don't know how you even found out about all this, but this was our choice to make," Jim said, standing up to his friend even though he knew the tall reporter had the best of intentions when he burst in on their wedding. "We arrived at this decision together; I didn't make her do this, just like I couldn't make her do anything else she didn't want to do. Yeah, it would've been nice to see her walk down the aisle with her father, but what's most important is that Chloe and I love each other and we want to be together forever, with our forever starting today. We didn't want to wait another four months to get married and risk driving ourselves crazy in the process."

Clark nodded solemnly before extending a hand out to Jim. "Ok then, if this is what you guys really want, then who am I to stand in your way?"

"Good," Jim answered, smiling broadly. "Because I'd hate to have to find out if that old cliché 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall' is actually true or not." The two men laughed heartily. "Oh, and Clark? Since you're no longer trying to bust up my wedding, would you stand with me as my Best Man?"

"Jimmy, I'd be honored."

* * *

"Chloe, I know you and Jim love each other and that you want to get married, but are you sure that this is the way you want to do it? I mean, have you really thought this eloping business all the way through?" Lois asked the bride quietly.

"I really don't know how you and Clark managed it, but the stress of this wedding is tearing me and Jim apart," Chloe replied, the hand holding her bouquet fisted rakishly on her hip as she gesticulated with the other. "All of the pressure we're feeling right now isn't likely to diminish in four months time either. We just want to get on with our lives…our married lives, that is. Jim and I love each other and this is how we've chosen to celebrate that love, by eloping here, now."

Lois beamed at Chloe. "Ok. If this is what you want, then I won't hold you up any longer."

"You mean it?" At Lois' earnest nod she relaxed her stance a bit and caught her friend in a small hug.

Lois looked beyond her friend's shoulder to find her husband and Jimmy joking around and smiling. "Looks like Clark's ok with your decision too."

Chloe sighed quietly, "I guess I really don't have to ask how you found out about our plans, huh?"

"Nope…next time you might want to look up before you decide to elope at City Hall, ok?" her friend joked.

The bride shook her head vigorously at the insinuation. "There isn't going to _be_ a next time, this one's for keeps…and since you and your family seem to be sticking around for the ceremony, will you be my Matron of Honor?"

"Oh Chloe!!" Lois squealed, throwing her arms around the blond woman's slender shoulders. "Of course I will! Ok, first things first," she said, examining the bride with a critical eye. "Do you have your something old?" Chloe lifted up the hem of her dress and extended her foot, indicating the older, comfortable pair of heels she wore. "What about something new?"

"I think that, in this instance, the dress technically qualifies as new."

"Absolutely. Something blue?" The bride touched her ear, pointing at the sapphire studs she wore. "And lastly, your something borrowed?"

"Now that one I hadn't actually thought about…" Chloe replied, biting her lower lip at the thought that she had almost jinxed her own wedding.

"That's ok, I've got you covered." Lois bent over her daughter and deftly untied the white ribbon Clark had put in the infant's hair. Haley stared at her mother with wide blue eyes and cooed happily, but otherwise did little to protest. "Here, let's tie this around your flowers."

"Good idea…oh, and give this to Haley, she can be my flower girl," she replied, tugging a light pink carnation from the bouquet.

* * *

Jim eyed his bride and his friend who were still preoccupied in the opposite corner and took the opportunity to approach Jason who'd been standing quietly in the middle of the aisle; he'd been silenced by all of the activity going on in the room and now had his eyes focused on the judge in his long black robes.

"Hey Buddy," Jim said, crouching down so he could be at eye level with the young boy.

"Hi Mr. Jimmy," the boy replied, giving him a toothy smile.

"I take it you understand what's going on here? Your Aunt Chloe and I are getting married."

"Yeah…does that mean I get to call you Uncle Jimmy now?"

He tousled the child's hair affectionately. "Yep it does, but only after the party tomorrow, ok? Everybody else doesn't know we're doing this yet…matter of fact, I'm still confused as to how your folks even found out." Jason just shrugged his shoulders in answer and the young photographer pressed on. "I have a big favor to ask of you, but if you don't want to do it you can say no."

The young boy eyed him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to be our ring bearer?" he asked, pulling the ring box out of his pocket and showing him the matching white gold bands that lay inside. Jason looked at the rings a moment before his gaze darted all around the room. "What is it Jason? What are you looking for?"

"When I was ring bearer at Mom and Dad's wedding, I had a pillow to put the rings on, but there isn't a pillow here."

Jim chuckled and stood up, the box still open in his hand. "It's ok, we don't need a pillow today. Here, you can hold the box, just like this," he said, closing the cover and cupping his hands together to show Jason how he could carry the rings. "But like I said, you don't have to do it if you don't want to…"

"No, I wanna help!" Jason exclaimed anxiously, reaching out for the box and holding it just like his Uncle had shown him. Jim gave him a wide smile.

"Thanks Bud."

"Ahem," Judge Dryver called out in his slow drawl, clearing his throat and surveying people in the room. "I don't mean to be rude, but it's almost five o'clock…are we ready to proceed here?"

"Yes we are," Chloe and Jim answered as one, returning to their spots before the Justice of the Peace. Clark led Jason over to stand with him beside the groom, while Lois wheeled the stroller around and took her place next to the bride.

The only other interruption during the rest of the service was that of Haley Kent laughing happily as she wildly waved the pink carnation clutched in her chubby little fist.


	37. Chapter 37

_**East Side Slums,**_** January 15, 2010. **Leroy begrudgingly accepted the cell phone that was handed to him and he strained to hear above the static.

"Uncle, it's Parker."

"Parker? Where the HELL HAVE YOU BEEN THIS LAST WEEK?! I sent you over there on business, not an all expenses paid vacation!! You better have a damn good explanation!!"

"I only just got to speak with the sellers yesterday—there's been heavy fighting in the region and it wasn't safe to meet with them before now. My friends were finally able to arrange the meeting and the deal is done, and at 5,000 less than you originally estimated."

Uncle raised an eyebrow suspiciously at the drop in price while Jacob watched on, silently waiting for further instruction. "And you're sure it's all above board? I can't afford to alienate other buyers, we don't want another war on our hands…"

"It's all above board, Uncle," Parker hastened to reassure him. "The only complication now is trying to get it out amidst all the guerilla warfare. I need another week or two to settle things here, and then I'll be back in the States."

Jacob watched as Leroy nodded and scratched some notes out on his legal pad before him. "Well done, Parker. I'll see you when you return." He unceremoniously hung up the phone and handed it back to his associate before promptly dismissing him. A genuine smile graced his face as soon as was alone in his office glad to have made such a lucrative deal.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**January 15, 2010. **Chloe and Jim stuck around City Hall very briefly after they were married—just long enough to accept their friends' heartiest congratulations and pose for a few pictures that Marlene and the Judge were kind enough to take—before dashing back to their apartment to change for dinner with their relatives while still pretending to be an engaged couple.

"But I don't want to take it off," Chloe whined as Jim set her back down on her feet once he'd carried her over the threshold to their home.

Her husband helped her out of her coat and slowly began kissing her exposed neck and shoulder. "Mmmm…I can help you take it off…I do believe we have the time…"

She wheeled around to face him, holding up her left hand so he could see. "I wasn't talking about the dress, Jim, though I don't really want to take that off either; I was referring to the ring. If we wear them to dinner tonight, someone's bound to notice."

"Ah, yes, that would be a problem," he said, surveying the band on her finger, while fiddling with the matching one on his own left hand. He had to admit that, while he'd only been wearing it for forty-five minutes, he was loathe to take his off too. "But in less than twenty-four hours time, the cat will be out of the bag and you'll never have to take it off ever again." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the palm, before wrapping her arm around his neck and drawing her closer into his embrace.

"You promise?" she whispered into his ear as he began a slow revolution on the living room floor.

"I promise, Love."

They soon changed out of their wedding clothes and into more suitable attire; Chloe compromised by donning her ring on a long chain around her neck, hidden from view by her blouse while Jim stuffed his into his pocket where he could feel for it as the night wore on.

The young couple emerged from their cab outside of Rodney's Steak House at the same time as their guests; Chloe rushed to greet Justin and Jill and introduce them to her father and other relatives while Jim helped his grandparents from their cab and ushered them out of the cold night air and into the restaurant. All sixteen of them were quickly escorted to a private room, with Chloe and Jim hanging back and holding hands, watching quietly as their guests seated themselves around the table.

* * *

Jim's Grandma Shea caught them hanging back along the wall surveying the scene, fingers intertwined with one another's and blissful smiles on their faces. "It's so sweet to see young love in bloom," Betty exclaimed in a loud whisper to her husband as he helped her into her seat. Jim and Chloe's smiles widened as they overheard her.

Grandpa Shea lifted his wife's hand up to his lips and kissed it sweetly. "Nothing wrong with old love either, Dear."

"Oh Miles, you old softie," she said, blushing and holding onto his hand as he settled himself in the chair beside her.

* * *

The dinner lasted far longer than the secret newlyweds had anticipated; everyone wanted to discuss details and plans for the wedding in May, each throwing their two cents in, unwitting to the fact that the sacred event had already taken place. The young couple finally trudged back into the apartment a little after midnight, their spirits high and their bodies exhausted.

"I'm just going to get changed," Chloe informed him, lifting her head off Jim's shoulder and feeling her way in the dark down the hall to the bedroom.

"I'll be there in a minute." He ducked into the bathroom just as she found the light switch and tossed her purse on the floor by the bed.

She crawled under the covers wearing nothing but her slip, too tired to search for her nightclothes. Her husband came in a minute later and stripped to his boxers, sliding into bed beside her.

They fell asleep wrapped up in each other's arms, too exhausted to celebrate their wedding day any further.

* * *

_**Biltmore Restaurant Private Function Room, **_**January 16, 2010. **It had been arranged by Jim, Chloe and Lois the previous day at City Hall that Clark would be the one to announce their newly married status to the fifty-five guests expected to attend the 'engagement' party.

"Uh, g-guys, I really don't think I should be t-the one to…" Clark began to explain, exaggerating the stutter in the hopes of getting out of the discomfiting honor his friends were bestowing upon him.

Chloe cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow, as if daring the Man of Steel to contradict her and cut him off. "Oh no you don't! You barged in on our wedding and now you're going to pay the price."

Jim took Chloe's hand in his. "I think what my wife is trying to say is that if you hadn't walked by City Hall when you did, Clark, you wouldn't have known what we were up to; but since you did walk by and you do know, you get to be the one to tell our relatives what we've done."

Clark looked at his wife in horror, hoping she'd help him out. "Don't look at me, I agree with them," she said, jerking a thumb in the newlyweds' direction.

Which was how Clark found himself standing in his good suit, a glass of champagne in his hand, surrounded by Jim and Chloe's closest family and friends while talking to Perry White and Ian Sullivan and waiting for a signal from the newlyweds to drop their bombshell for them.

* * *

"You know, this is the first time we've made it back here to the restaurant for a meal since Clark's birthday last year," Jim mused as they walked down the hallway arm-in-arm in their wedding attire, ready to deliver the greatest surprise of their lives to their family and friends. "All of the other times we made reservations we tended to forego them in honor of…ahem…_other_ activities."

"Well," Chloe replied, eyes darting furtively around outside the reception area. "I did see a supply closet down that way; if you want to, we can slip in there before anyone notices…"

"Chloe Olsen!" he admonished, his ears burning red at what she was insinuating.

Her face flushed with pride as he spoke. "Say it again," she whispered as she began kissing his cheek then nibbling on his earlobe.

_Oh how this drives me crazy, and she knows it too, _he thought to himself as he tried to focus on staying in control. "Chloe Olsen," he whispered back. "Mr. and Mrs. Jim and Chloe Olsen…" Her lips moved down his jaw line to his neck when he felt he couldn't let her proceed any further or else they would need that supply closet.

"I better call Clark's cell and give him the signal," he said, stepping back from his wife to pull the phone out of his inner pocket.

She rolled her eyes. "If you must," she sighed, blowing an errant wisp of hair out of her face at the self-imposed interruption, dread seeping through her at the thought of what kind of reception they'd face on the other side of the double doors.

* * *

Clark heard them talking long before he felt the cell phone vibrate in his pocket, and he excused himself from Ian and Perry before striding up to the microphone situated on a small dance floor at the front of the room. No one took much notice of the tall man fumbling with the piece of equipment at the front of the room, and Lois strode over with a knife in her hand and a smirk on her lips.

"This is what you get when you interfere, Smallville," she said, smirking as she took the glass out of her husband's hand and tapped the knife to its side. A few moments of dinging was all it took for the guests to take their seats and give Lois and Clark their full attention. She handed him back his glass. "They're all yours."

"Uh, h-hi everyone," he said, bending over to speak into the microphone and raising his hand in a dorky wave at the crowd. His eyes roamed over the assembled group of people: he saw Perry standing off against the far wall, his mother and Lois seated at a table together with Jason and Haley, Isabelle Nonte fending off what looked to be like someone from the 'Metropolan' sitting near the back of the room…and the fifty some odd other people assembled only served to make him even more nervous. It was one of the ironies of life that as comfortable as Superman appeared to be when he spoke in public, his alter-ego was quite the opposite, and right now Clark looked as if he'd rather be facing a firing squad then the room full of happy and unwitting guests.

"Mr. Sullivan, Mrs. Olsen, where are you?" he asked, having missed them in his quick check of the room. Two hands waved from a table off to his left. "Oh good, you're sitting down; if you weren't already I w-was about to suggest it."

"What's going on here, Kent?" the Chief piped up gruffly from against the wall. Martha and Cheryl nodded in agreement, each with a shared look of concern, while Ian put his drink down on the table and braced himself for the news.

"Ok, well, um, for those of you here who don't know me, my name is Clark Kent and I'm a good friend of both Jim and Chloe's. Chloe and I grew up together in Smallville, while my wife and I have had the pleasure to work with Jim these last few years at the _Daily Planet_—I think that's why they elected for me to, um…to tell you what I h-have to tell you."

All of the people in the room collectively leaned forward in the seats, listening, and he heard their heart rates speed up. He took a quick sip of the champagne in his hand to wet his whistle and decided it would probably be best to get it over with quickly, much like ripping off a Band-Aid...or so he'd heard.

"Have out with it already, Son!" Martha cried out, causing a few in the room to chuckle.

"You thought you were all coming here for an engagement party, but the t-truth is that Jim and Chloe eloped yesterday afternoon and this has now become their wedding reception. So it is my pleasure to introduce to you for the first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. James and Chloe Olsen!" he exclaimed, eyes darting toward the door as the young couple slipped in, hand in hand, anxiously eying the crowd.

Perry was the only man in the room who spoke. "Great Caesar's ghost…"

Cheryl rose out of her chair a full minute later and crossed the room to face the couple, with Ian hot on her heels. "You didn't! You're really…"

Jim held up his left hand, which was still intertwined with Chloe's, and pointed to his ring. "Yes Mom, we really did."

"This was all _your_ idea, wasn't it?" the older woman said accusingly, turning to face the bride. As much as she hadn't been looking forward to planning another wedding, the fact that it was her eldest son getting married had left Cheryl with a heightened sense of anticipation to witness this walk down the aisle. Ian placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Now, now, before we go assigning blame anywhere let's hear what the two of them have to say." He turned back to look at his daughter and son-in-law for a full explanation.

"It was both of our ideas," Jim said, meeting his father-in-law's gaze unwaveringly.

"Yeah Dad, the stress of planning the wedding was driving a wedge between us, and we didn't want to have to live like that for another four months."

"I brought up the idea first, though, so if anyone should be blamed it should be me."

She turned on her husband and lightly rapped his arm with her bouquet. "No it shouldn't be you, it should be _us_! You did not drag me like a cave man to City Hall yesterday, Jim; if anything I was the one pulling you out of the cab trying to make you move faster…"

Ian threw his hands up. "Kids, kids, calm down! We're not angry with you…"

"We're not?" Cheryl threw in, trying to temper her fury due to the crowd gathered in the room. "Like hell we're not…"

"Cheryl, wait just a minute and take a good look at them, will you?" he asked, gesturing to their children. "They're married and they're happy. Sure it may not have come about as we all had hoped and planned, but isn't their happiness ultimately more important then what we want?"

Chloe held her breath and squeezed Jim's hand tighter as they both waited for his mother's reaction. Cheryl stared long and hard into her daughter-in-law's eyes; she'd warmed up to Chloe Sullivan in the months since Jim had brought her home to Connecticut for Jen's wedding, but to have her thrust into the family so permanently and so suddenly left her feeling incredibly hurt and looking for someone to hold accountable. After several minutes of stony silence, she turned her stare upon her son and he instantly straightened up under her gaze, his determined brown eyes looking back at her unflinchingly. Her James, her precious baby boy and firstborn whom she felt could do no wrong and whom she loved beyond measure, was now married; and, much as she didn't want to admit it in the wake of their shocking announcement, she saw that Ian was right and that her son was really and truly content with the consequences of his actions.

"Well then, I guess this means 'welcome to the family', Chloe," she finally said, opening her arms slowly and stepping forward to take the young blond woman into a stiff embrace. Jim let out the breath he'd been holding as Ian took a step closer to him with his hand outstretched. The young man took it in his and Ian pulled him into a manly embrace.

"Welcome to the family, Son," he whispered into his son-in-law's ear. Jim choked down the lump in his throat and hugged his father-in-law a little tighter; it was the first time a man had called him 'son' and put such feeling behind the endearment in almost twenty years.

Cheryl released her daughter-in-law and wrapped her arms around her son as she and Ian switched kids before the rest of the room descended upon them. "This doesn't mean you two are off the hook, James," she whispered in her son's ear. "Not by a long shot."

He smirked and decided to do the brotherly thing and throw his sister under the bus to save his own hide. "Well don't go killing us yet, Mom, or you'll be depriving Jenny and Brian's baby of an aunt and an uncle." He stepped back and watched the last of the color drain from his mother's face as she wheeled about, scanning the crowd of well-wishers in search of her middle child.

"Jenny!" she screeched as she caught sight of the young woman. "Were you even going to tell me I'm going to be a grandmother or were you just going to wait until _after_ the baby was born?!"

Jen and Brian's both got the deer-in-the-headlights look on their faces at being called out in the middle of a room full of strangers, while Josh, Justin and Jill's fell in shock and Jim just laughed uproariously. The Chief stepped over and began earnestly pumping his photographer's hand in congratulations.

"Told you you wouldn't have to wait long before Cheryl found herself something else to fuss over," Chloe's father said as he relinquished his hold on his daughter, beaming all the while. "You look as lovely as your mother did on our wedding day—no, I take that back, you look lovelier." He leaned in closer and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "We are both so proud of you, Bug."

Two salty tears slid quietly down Chloe's cheeks. "Thanks Dad," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Gripping his hand, she squeezed it tightly, then let go and faced the rest of her guests.

"Chloe Sullivan I can't believe you went ahead and got yourself married! Oh my Dear, you are a _beautiful_ bride!" Martha Kent exclaimed as she came rushing up to the young woman with open arms.

Lois and Clark stood back a ways from the hubbub, eying all the fuss being made over their newly married friends with pleased smiles on their faces.

* * *

**2 hours later**. The party was in full swing, with most people enjoying themselves out on the dance floor. Justin and Jill took turns playing deejay with nothing but a book of CD's and an old boom box but they seemed to be making it work as everyone appeared to be having a good time at the impromptu reception. Jim and Chloe found themselves alone for the first time since they stepped through the door and grabbed some food from the buffet before sitting down at a vacant table.

"Oh my gosh, I've never been so hungry in all my life," Chloe exclaimed as she picked up a piece of shrimp and plunked it her mouth. "I couldn't eat all morning worrying about what your mother was going to say!"

"Mmm, me too!" her husband added, grabbing a napkin and wiping a bit of sauce that dribbled down his chin. "But I was more worried about the reactions from your father AND my mother."

"Well, there's no more worrying now…" She brought a finger up under his chin and drew his lips to hers, eyelids fluttering closed as he neared her. He closed his eyes and met her for the perfect kiss.

"Amen." When Jim next opened his eyes, he caught sight of Isabelle standing in the back corner of the room in a designer gold dress, flanked by his brother Josh, his boss Perry White, and Chloe's editor Christian Newman, all wearing their best suits. The four were obviously huddled in a conference. "Uh oh."

Chloe re-opened her eyes in alarm. "'Uh oh'? What do you mean, 'uh oh'? Is your mother coming back over to give us a piece of her mind?"

"No, it's not my Mom; it's Perry, Christian, Josh and Isabelle." He gestured to them with a nod of his head.

She turned to follow his gaze and watched Isabelle Nonte keeping the men in rapt attention, gesticulating with her hands as she spoke. "Well, of all the people at the party there's a foursome I never would've imagined."

Jim nodded his head in agreement. "Indeed." He puzzled over the small group a moment longer before returning to his food. Chloe's eyes stayed on them for a little longer still, then she swiveled around in her seat, scanning the room in search of the one man who could help her: Clark Kent. She spied him on the dance floor holding Haley in his arms and dancing with her, one chubby little fist enveloped completely in his gentle hand as he held her in his arm. He looked away from his daughter and straight at Chloe, as if he knew he was being watched, and gave her a curious look.

"Jim, Sweetie, I'll be right back."

"Ok, but don't leave me alone for too long—your Aunt Ellen really likes to pinch my cheeks now that we're 'family' and all."

She kissed the top of his head as she got up and moved toward the dance floor. "Don't worry, I won't."

Clark pretended not to notice his friend as she made her way to the front of the room toward him, and instead continued swaying on the dance floor with his daughter in his arms. "Uh oh, Cookie, your Auntie Chloe's coming right this way…or should I say, _more trouble_ is headed this way," he said playfully in a baby voice once his friend was in ear shot.

"I heard that."

"Oh! Chloe! I, uh, d-didn't hear you," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose while Haley waved her hands in the air and cooed happily.

His friend rolled her eyes at him and grimaced at the act he put on. "I need you to do me a favor…can you tell me what's going on in that little pow-wow over there?" she asked, surreptitiously pointing to the small group in the back of the room.

"I could, but…"

"But what?" she asked, oblivious to the fact that he was tuning her out and tuning into them. A look of supreme shock swept over his face just then, followed by pleasure, and he looked down into the blushing bride's face once more.

"But I won't."

"What do you mean you won't?! Come on, it's my wedding reception! Besides, you still owe me from trying to bust everything up yesterday!"

"Oh no, I don't! I don't owe you anything—I repaid you by making the big announcement here in front of all these people, and you know how I hate making speeches. Just trust me when I tell you you'll be pleasantly surprised. Besides, by the looks of things I don't think you'll have to wait much longer to find out for yourself. Now come on, Haley, let's dance," and with that he whisked her off in dramatic fashion back toward the middle of the dance floor to join Lois and Jason, leaving his best friend gaping on the periphery.

Turning back around to rejoin her husband, Chloe discovered that she was once again on the losing side—Aunt Ellen had swooped in and was now pinching Jim's face until it was all red and splotchy from the force of her grasp.

_Ah, family, _she thought as she lifted up the hem of her skirt and made her way back to the table to save her husband.

* * *

**1 hour later.** "Hi guys," Isabelle said as she took a seat beside them. Chloe and Jim had just come off the dance floor after taking a couple turns and were sweaty and slightly out of breath. "Congratulations again…that was pretty gutsy, eloping like that."

"Oh, well, you know, we're just a spontaneous couple like that!" Jim said jokingly, knowing full well what a planner his wife was.

"Riiiiight…" the young woman replied, glancing at Chloe to gauge whether he was kidding or not. "Well I just came over here because I have a gift for the two of you."

Chloe raised a glass of water to her lips and was about to take a sip when she gave her friend a surprised look. "A gift? But you didn't have to get us anything!"

"Nonsense! Now, I want to offer you my villa in Tuscany for a ten day honeymoon, starting as soon as the reception is over. What do you say?"

The bride sprayed her mouthful of water all over the centerpiece and started coughing while her groom sat there equally dumbstruck by the proposal.

"Ten days, in Italy…in a _villa_??" he asked incredulously.

"Hey Bro, I know it sounds too good to be true, but it isn't," his brother chimed in as he came up behind the three of them, two champagne glasses in his hand. "Here you go."

"Thank you, Josh." She accepted the glass from the hairy young man with an easy smile; their friendliness with one another only served to add to Jim and Chloe's confusion.

Chloe had finally stopped coughing. "But…but…we can't! We have jobs, not to mention no means of getting there, then there's the honeymoon cruise Jim booked for our original wedding in May; we were just going to wait and travel then."

"Don't worry about it, Sis, Isabelle's got you guys all covered," Josh said with a broad grin. "Do you want to go ahead and tell them or should I?"

"I'll tell them, if you don't mind," she replied, smiling back. "I already spoke with Mr. White and Mr. Newman and arranged for the time off for the two of you."

Jim's effusive brother put his glass back down on the table and couldn't help butting in. "Yeah, she's a brilliant negotiator you guys! She's giving your newspaper her first post-'Metropolan' exclusive_ and_ she's giving some photographer from your magazine a chance to tour and photograph her penthouse! Apparently the guy's been drooling over a chance at the assignment for _years_…"

"_Anyway_, as we were saying, you're all covered as far as work goes and you'll just have to get a refund for your cruise tickets; then we'll get you on the next available flight to Florence as soon as everything here is wrapped up; how does that sound?" The newlyweds were at an extreme loss for words.

"I…"

"We…"

"…it's just…"

"…you really…"

"…too much trouble…"

"…we couldn't possibly…"

"Hi guys." Lois sauntered over to the table just then after having received some very good news from Perry. "Miss Nonte, it'll be a pleasure interviewing you again," she said, holding her hand out.

"And it will be nice to be interviewed by you, Mrs. Lane-Kent," she replied as they shook.

"Now you two," the young reporter said, turning her attention to her newly-married friends, "I understand that you're being offered the opportunity to spend a week and a half honeymooning in Tuscany?" Again the young couple fairly tripped over themselves trying to form a coherent thought until Lois held up a hand to stop them. "As for the small issue of getting there—say no more. Flights to and from Italy are very expensive these days; _however_, I think I may have access to a fast, safe and dirt-cheap alternative…" She flashed them a wicked grin and Jim sat there in confusion, while Chloe's eyes went wide in surprise at what her intrepid young reporter friend was insinuating.

From halfway across the room, Clark stopped talking with his mother in mid-sentence, and his head shot up abruptly over the crowd. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled once he caught the impish look on his wife's face.


	38. Chapter 38

_**East Side Slums, **_**January 23, 2010. **Both father and daughter sat at the kitchen table nonchalantly eating their clam chowder when their employer showed up.

"Hello Scott, Flora," Leroy said as he entered their apartment, watching the young woman like a hawk. The two eyed him warily as well.

"Hello Uncle. What can we do for you?" Scott asked as he watched the man take a seat at the table uninvited.

"Do you recall the work you did for a client back in 2007 with our special product?"

Flora, who had appeared disinterested the entire time, turned sharply to stare at her father while the older man lowered his spoon into the bowl.

"Yes…" he replied slowly, as if carefully searching his memory.

"Well, now I'm in need of extra insurance—protection, if you will—from our local flying menace utilizing that same substance. Something small, easily distributable, more effective…"

"But what about all that work we did for you when we first arrived?!" the young woman cried out, leaping indignantly out of her chair, her fiery red locks flying. "Why is it that our work is never appreciated by you?!"

Scott recognized his daughter's temper and flew to her side, grasping her biceps tightly and forcing her to meet his eye. "He recognizes our talent and appreciates our hard work, Sweetheart," he said in a pacifying voice. This wasn't the first time that Scott had seen his beloved daughter fly off the handle—madness ran in his family. "This is just a new project." He turned to Uncle reassuringly. "Isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Leroy stood and pulled a hand-drawn diagram from his pocket, not fearing the hysterics from the woman across the table. "I was thinking that instead of keeping it in its raw form, if we could make it air-borne…perhaps in an aerosol spray can of some sort?"

The older man released his hold on his daughter as she calmed down and took the diagram out of his employer's hand, nodding his head vigorously in agreement. As though her earlier outburst never happened, father and daughter began collaborating together on the function and design for this new project, excitedly scribbling new notes on the paper before them.

"We'll need some high grade plastic for the outer sheath…"

"But it can't all be plastic, we'll need to make the inner cylinder out of metal of some kind so the particles won't stick…" They bantered back and forth as Leroy stood surreptitiously off to one side of the room, smiling at their proficiency as he watched his latest plans begin to come to fruition.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**January 26, 2010. **"Was it really only eleven days ago that we got married?" Chloe asked as she unlocked the door to their apartment, one large suitcase in her hand. She was hanging up her winter coat in the closet by the time Jim came in, bringing up the rear and carrying the rest of their luggage.

"Was it really only ten days ago that Superman flew us to Tuscany and two minutes ago that he flew us back?" he asked her back, dropping the suitcases as soon as he walked through the front door to clutch a hand to his head. He and Chloe had quickly discovered that free flight not only made him nervous, but also incredibly dizzy.

"Hey there, we're back on solid ground, it's ok…" She rubbed his back soothingly as she spoke.

"My eyes are getting the message, but my stomach and my head seem to have missed the memo. Not that I'm ungrateful that a _superhero_ was able to take time out of his busy schedule to fly us to and from our honeymoon destination, but did he have to fly so high above everything? Oceans, mountains, valleys…one little slip and we'd have fallen to a very squishy death."

"Aww, I thought it was fun! Besides it was _Superman_ who flew us! Do you really think he'd drop somebody?" Jim looked up at his wife's enthusiasm and rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, you'll feel better in a few minutes; you did the last time." She began sifting through the mail that Lois had left piled for them on the kitchen counter. "Oh my gosh!" she squealed.

"What, what is it?" he asked her worriedly. She held out a business postcard for him and he read it carefully. "But you don't need a computer fix-it service…you _are_ your own fix-it service."

"No, not the advertisement, Jim, the address; look at who they addressed it too."

He re-read the postcard and saw immediately what had gotten her so excited. It read 'Mrs. Chloe Olsen'. "I'm glad that you wanted to take my name," he said proudly as she plopped herself down into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She looked at him quizzically. "You are? How come you never said anything about it before?"

"Because I didn't want to pressure you. I mean, I would've been happy if you wanted to keep your name or hyphenate the two, but I like that you _wanted_ to take my last name."

Chloe smiled at how happy the decision made him. "In all fairness, you could've taken my name if you wanted to, _Mr. Sullivan_." She grinned madly at him as he looked back at her, shocked. "Anyways, the only reason I wouldn't have taken your name was if it was hideously long and unpronounceable…like Olsenparfenhefernugen." He didn't laugh at her joke; he simply stared up at her with a serious expression. "Jim…your last name isn't really Olsenparfenhefernugen, is it?" she asked quickly, raising an eyebrow.

"Aww shucks, Honey, I was going to save that little tidbit for our one month anniversary!" He burst out cackling at her facial expression as she caught onto the joke.

"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, jumping off his lap as he roared with laughter. "Now I _know_ you're feeling better." Chloe leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before making her way towards the luggage. "I don't want our honeymoon to end…can't we just hole up here in the apartment one more day and call in sick to work tomorrow?"

"I think our bosses have been gracious enough the last ten days without us trying their patience for one more, Chloe." He got up and moved over to help her.

"I know, but that still doesn't mean I want to go," she whined.

"I know, Love, I know…neither do I."

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**January 27, 2010. **"Hey Jim, welcome back!! How was your honeymoon?" Clark called out, waving his hand as he caught sight of his friend entering the bullpen. He'd never realized how lonely the bullpen was without Jim or how much Jim's and Lois' presence made the place feel like a second home.

The photographer came straight over and shook his friend's hand. "Oh man, the honeymoon was great!! Italy was absolutely amazing, and Isabelle had this fantastic villa that she let us have the whole run of, not to mention she had a car and driver for us to use so we were able to take a few day trips to places like Florence and other smaller towns nearby. We got to see all the museums and do some shopping, among other things…"

"Jimmy!" Lois cried out indignantly as she came upon the two men standing around talking in the middle of the walkway, catching the tail end of the conversation.

"What? I meant other things like taking pictures; I got some great shots of the view from the villa, especially after this one snowfall—why, what did you _think_ I meant, Lois?"

The young reporter went red in the face. "Um, nothing, absolutely nothing. Matter of fact, forget I said anything at all…" she said as she stalked away back to her desk.

"I'm impressed," Clark said, watching his wife walk away before turning back to his newly-married friend.

"Impressed by what?"

"Impressed by the fact that you've only been back five minutes and you've already rendered Lois speechless. Welcome back!" He clasped his friend's shoulder and grinned.

All too soon, a loud voice bellowed out from the opposite corner of the room, "Olsen! I pay you to work, not to gossip, now hop to!"

"Yes Chief!"

Both men scrambled back to their respective desks and assignments.

* * *

_**The 'Metropolan', **_**January 27, 2010. **"Good afternoon, Nonte residence," the dour woman's voice on the other end of the line couldn't even dampen Chloe's good cheer.

"Yes, good afternoon, I'm calling to speak with Isabelle."

The woman sounded nonplussed at hearing her employer being called by her first name. "And who may I ask is calling?"

"If you could please tell her it's her friend, Chloe Sull—I mean, Chloe Olsen, I'd appreciate it." She'd found herself slipping all day, despite replacing the name plate on her door and changing her voicemail and e-mail signature earlier in the morning.

"One moment please." She heard an ominous click followed by silence. _Gee, you'd think that if you were worth millions you'd be able to afford some gizmo so you could hear piano music playing in the background or something…_

"Hi, Chloe?"

Her smile brightened even more at the sound of her friend's voice. "Isabelle, hi, how are you?! I couldn't wait to get a hold of you and thank you so much for letting me and Jim use your villa for our honeymoon… "

"Oh good, I'm so glad you liked it! Hey listen, do you mind holding for one more minute while I wrap up another call?"

"N-no, not at all."

"Great, thanks." Chloe heard the phone click again into silence as she wondered who else her friend might be speaking to…_foreign dignitary, head of state, the President…_

"Sorry about that," Isabelle cut back in, interrupting her thoughts. "I was just in the middle of a conversation with your brother-in-law when you called."

Chloe choked and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "I'm sorry, you were talking to _whom_ just now? Because it sounded like you said you were on the other line with one of my brother-in-laws…"

"I did," the young woman replied matter-of-factly. "Josh and I have kept in touch since the reception; he's even introduced me to the world of comic book art. I had no idea it could be so high-end…"

"You're joking, right? We can't possibly be talking about the same person here—you're sure it was _Josh Olsen_? About my height, big bushy beard, bear hug that could kill you if he squeezed in the wrong place…?"

"One and the same." Chloe didn't know how to respond to that, nor did she think she was physically capable of responding properly as her jaw now hung open in surprise. "Chloe, are you still there? Chloe?"

"I…I guess I didn't realize how well you guys hit it off that night—I mean, I saw you two talking together and all but it's just that, well, it's Josh; and I love my brother-in-law, don't get me wrong, but he tends to hit on anything in a skirt and I thought you were just too polite to give him the brush off."

Isabelle let loose a whoop and a wild, hearty laugh which only served to startle her reporter friend further. "He does hit on anything in a skirt, doesn't he?! That's how we met at your party ironically—he tried to pick me up with a cheesy line—but I have to admit that I found him quite endearing once he stopped putting on a show and started being himself. Chloe, he spent an hour talking to me just to get to know me, and he didn't even realize I was an heiress until he went to get us drinks and somebody pulled him aside and told him who I was. He likes me for me, and I like him for him: big, bushy beard and all."

"Well then," Chloe spluttered into the phone. "I wish you both every happiness together."

"What? Oh my gosh, no! No, it's not like that; for goodness sake, he's almost ten years younger than me! No, Josh and I are friends, we're just becoming very good friends, that's all!" she exclaimed into the phone.

"Boy, did I misconstrue _that_ situation," her friend responded with a chuckle, feeling at ease for the first time since she picked up the phone.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**January 27, 2010. **Jim sat on the couch matching and rolling the clean socks together with the cordless phone pressed up against his ear.

"Colby Residence."

"Hey Brian, it's Jim, how are you?"

"Hey man, it's good to hear from you! How was your honeymoon? Did you and Chloe have a nice time in Tuscany? I hear it's beautiful this time of year."

"Yeah, it was great, we had a great time…I take it you guys got back to Mayfield alright after the party?"

"Ermm…" He listened to his brother-in-law squirm on the other end of the line. "Define 'alright'."

Jim's face fell. "Oh no, Jenny didn't…"

"What? Oh, NO! No, she and the baby are both fine, they're fine, nothing bad happened, it's just…"

"Just what?"

"It's Cheryl." Brian paused and took a deep, cleansing breath. "Did you _really_ have to go and throw us under the bus like that at the reception? She's practically moved into one of our spare bedrooms since she heard the good news, and now she's trying to decide which among them we ought to convert into a nursery; not to mention that she's pulled out a baby name book and has started naming our child for us, with a 'J' name, no less. Jimmy, I like you guys, all of you, but Jen and I are adamant about NOT naming a child of ours with a 'J' name. It's an insane tradition that your mother wants to uphold for God only knows why."

"Brian, I am so sorry," he said sincerely.

"Hey, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, it should be Jen. I can at least duck away into the garage and fiddle around with the lawn mower or something when she starts to get to me, but your sister's been bearing the brunt of it…"

"Would you mind putting her on the phone then?"

"Alright, if that's what you want…it's your funeral." Brian reluctantly agreed. Holding the phone away from his mouth, he called up to his wife. "Jen, Honey, your brother's on the phone!"

"Which one?" Jim heard her call back. "The _traitor_, the artist or the student?"

Brian paused before answering, figuring his brother-in-law could hear everything being said. "Uh…the first one…"

"UGH!" he heard her cry before jumping on the line. "JAMES PETER OLSEN I HAVE SO MANY THINGS I WANT TO SAY TO YOU I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START!!"

"I know, I know, and I am _SO _sorry, Sis…"

"Oh, you're sorry? You're SORRY?! Well gee, that makes everything all better then!" she said sarcastically. Turning away from the phone, he heard her add, "Brian, did you hear that? He's _sorry_. Jim, if you don't get _our_ mother out of _my_ house soon I'm going to commit matricide!"

"Understood," he said shakily, more then a little disturbed by her aggressive attitude. A minute later and bolstered by the silence, he added cheekily, "So is this what those nature shows are always talking about when they mention a mother defending her nest?"

"_JIMMY!!_"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**February 24, 2010. **"Owwff!!" Chloe exclaimed as she set the large brown package on the kitchen table. Jim scrambled out of the bedroom where he'd been putting away the clean laundry to see what all the commotion was.

"What've you got there?" he asked, circling the table and surveying the large box before him.

"I don't know; crazy Mrs. Hermann pushed it into my hands the minute I walked in the door downstairs. She started ranting about how she had to get up from her story to go sign for it, and then she was afraid of what it might be because 'those nutty terrorists are sending bombs out to all kinds of people in all kinds of ways, and you never know whose next', and I just wanted to get the heck away from her as fast as possible so I took it and ran for the elevator."

He looked at her incredulously. "'Those nutty terrorists are sending bombs out to all kinds of people in all kinds of ways'? She actually said that to you?"

Chloe just shrugged at their weird neighbor's behavior as she slipped out of her winter jacket and came back to see what was in the box that had been thrust upon her. "Jim, I couldn't make this stuff up about her if I tried." She peered over at the return address as he rummaged about in the kitchen for a pair of scissors. "Oh look, it's from Mrs. Kent! I wonder what on Earth she could possibly send us that could be so heavy…" _And why she paid all that money for shipping when she could have had her son fly it here in 2.5 seconds flat, I'll never know,_ she mused silently as her husband began slicing through the tape with a pair of scissors.

The pair pulled the flaps of the box open and discovered a greeting card laid atop a homemade quilt. Chloe opened the card while Jim fished the quilt out of the box and held it in his outstretched arms.

"Oh my gosh, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed, ignoring the card as she caught sight of the piece of art Martha Kent had made for them. It was a diamond pattern quilt with a deep purple, navy blue and forest green border that had a white center interspersed with large colored stars matching the hues on the border. In the very center the outline of a large, green colored heart that was made to look like garlands of ivy had been embroidered on by hand.

Jim transferred the quilt into his bride's hands and began reading the card that she had abandoned. "Dear Chloe and Jim," he read aloud as Chloe admired the intricate needlework. "I'm sorry that this was not ready in time for your wedding, but I hope that you will enjoy it and get much use out of it nonetheless. It is always a wonderful thing to witness two souls coming together—even if one isn't there to witness the ceremony itself—and I can tell that you two will be very happy together. May you both be blessed all the years of your married life, as my Jonathan and I were. With Much Love, Martha Kent." He let out a low whistle as he quietly re-read the endearment before turning to his wife. "Do they even make thank-you cards to give to people who love you and treat you like their own children?"

Chloe shook her head, almost sadly. "No, they don't. There aren't enough words in the world to tell someone like that how much you care for them, and if there were, they'd never be able to fit them all on such a small greeting card."


	39. Chapter 39

_**East Side Slums,**_** March 7, 2010.** Parker stood alongside his boss and several other employees on the docks near the warehouse in the dead of night. All was dark and quiet, save for the low, steady hum of a boat slowly wending it's way toward them. Every conceivable precaution had been put in place for the late night transfer, but the men were still ill at ease; not until the product was safely stored underground and out of sight would they all be able to breathe a little easier.

Uncle turned to the left to face his associate as Parker spoke into the two-way radio clutched in his meaty hand. "What's the news on the menace? Over." he asked sharply into the receiver.

"He's dealing with some sort of stand-off in Australia, according to the news reports," a crackling, disembodied voice answered back. "Looks like he'll be tied up for quite awhile. We'll keep you posted, over."

"Roger that, over." Parker clipped the radio back on his belt as he finally glimpsed the faint outline of the boat pulling up along shore. "Again, I'm sorry the shipment took so long to arrive," he said to Uncle, apologizing for the umpteenth time. The heroin deal he'd made in late January had taken longer than anticipated and then smuggling the goods out of the country and halfway around the world had been a logistical nightmare. There were border patrol officers who wouldn't be bribed, vehicle breakdowns by land, air and sea, bad weather…they'd all dogged the shipment unceasingly for the last five weeks.

Leroy ground his teeth together, waiting for the annoyance to pass…_This was too good of a deal to chew him out over again, just let it go_. "What matters is that it's here now." He took a step forward to address everyone as the men on the boat jumped ashore and moored it to the docks. "Now remember, work quickly and quietly. Get the product inside and we'll sort it out from there." No sooner had he spoken then the gangplank was lowered and his men efficiently set to work.

An hour and twenty minutes later, the area was clear of any and all debris, as though nothing whatsoever had transpired.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**March 11, 2010. **Chloe had left work a little early that Thursday evening so she could catch a cab home together with Jim, the newlywed glow still not having rubbed off. They were waiting near the elevators when a familiar voice called out, causing their heads to swivel around just as the doors before them opened. "Hey Jim, Chloe, would you guys mind waiting up a sec?" Clark called out across the bullpen as he rushed to get his coat on, his briefcase clasped tightly in his left hand. Lois had already left for the day and was now headed across town to pick up the kids, giving him the perfect opportunity to consult with his friends over what he had planned.

"Sure Clark, not a problem," Chloe replied, as Jim stuck his hand in the elevator.

He rushed into the cabin without buttoning his overcoat. "Thanks guys."

"Don't mention it." The trio had the cabin to themselves and rode down the first few floors in amicable silence.

"So…" Clark said, turning to look the two of them in the eye. Jim's fingers were intertwined with Chloe's, and both were lost in their own thoughts so Clark plowed right on ahead. "I was wondering if you guys wouldn't mind babysitting Jason and Haley for a few hours tomorrow evening?" he asked all in one breath, his upward inflection at the end of the question indicating he hoped they'd say yes.

Chloe and Jim's heads snapped toward one another at the question, communicating with their eyes in a language known only to their partner.

"_Why not? It's not as if we have other plans…_" she signaled with her manicured eyebrows.

Jim smirked. "_Well we __could__ have other plans if we __wanted__ to…like trying to have kids of our own…"_

"_Jimmy!_"

"_What? It's just a thought,_" he shrugged his shoulders.

She rolled her eyes in response. "_Or__ we could use this as an opportunity to see how good our parenting skills are…_"

"_You do bring up a very good point…_Sure CK, we'd be happy to watch the kids for you. What time do you want to drop them off at our place?" Jim finally answered his friend aloud.

Clark let loose a sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot you guys, you don't know how much you're helping me out here. I was thinking maybe you could come over to our place between 6 and 6:30? It's just easier then dragging all of Haley's stuff across town…"

Chloe flashed her friend a wide smile. "Sure, that sounds fine, we'd be glad to help out anyway we can."

"Great! Oh, and one more thing: please don't tell Lois that I asked you to do this. I'm trying to surprise her with a special night out, just the two of us."

"Oh that's so sweet!" the young woman exclaimed as the bell dinged and they entered the lobby. "Don't worry, we won't tell."

Clark gave them a wave as they each strode off in their separate directions. "Thanks again guys!"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**March 12, 2010, 5:59 pm. **Jim stood in the cold outside Lois and Clark's apartment building with Chloe by his side, and very leisurely pushed the buzzer.

"I still don't know why you insisted we be here at 6 on the dot," Jim said with a sideways glance at his wife. "CK said we could show up anytime between 6 and 6:30 and he'd be fine with it."

"Picture it, Jim, you and your spouse both have busy careers and two young children with little private time for one another. Wouldn't you relish an extra half hour if you could get it?"

"I see your point."

"I thought you would." She leaned over to kiss him on the lips just as the buzzer rang out to let them in.

* * *

"Jason, remember, no super-speeding in the house while your Uncle Jim and Aunt Chloe are here, ok?"

The little boy rolled his eyes at being reminded for the fifteenth time as he stopped himself mid-spurt towards his bedroom. "Yes, _Dad_."

"And I want both of you to be on your best behavior. That goes double for you, Cookie," he said, tickling his daughter's tummy and sending her giggling and writhing in his strong arms. At that moment two syllables were uttered that turned Clark's whole world upside down.

"Dada."

His head whipped around to face his infant daughter so fast that if it hadn't been attached it might have rolled off his shoulders. Haley had been saying 'Mama' for two weeks now, but this was the first time she'd called her father by name. A quick rap at the door alerted Clark to his friends' presence and he hastened to let them in, still staring at his daughter in complete awe. "She just said 'Dada'!!" he cried out proudly before Chloe and Jim even set foot across the threshold. Haley turned her head away and hid her face in her father's broad chest as he beamed with pride.

"She did? Oh my goodness, that's amazing! Haley did you just say 'Dada'? Did you just say 'Dada'?" Chloe asked in baby speak, reaching out to take the infant from her friend's arms just as soon as Jim took her coat. Clark was reluctant to hand her over until he recalled what type of evening he had in store for his wife.

"Wow…I just can't believe her second word was 'Dada'," his voice trailed off for a moment in awe until Jim sneezed. "Oh, and thank you guys so much for doing this, and for coming early too. I'm sure you have better things to do on your Friday night…"

"Clark, it's our pleasure, really!" Jimmy said as Jason re-entered the room running slowly for him. "Hey there Buddy! I brought over some new coloring books for us tonight…" the boy gave his father a look, as if to say _I'm eight years old! That's too old for coloring books!_ until he saw that they contained pictures of the epic Sky Captain and Tornado Tom battle when his Uncle produced from the plastic bag.

The boy ran over and threw his arms around the young man's knees. "Wow! Thanks, Uncle Jimmy!"

"No problem," he replied, tousling the boy's hair and getting a toothy grin in return.

"Alright, well let me just give you guys a quick rundown and then I'm off to grab Lois from the _Planet_; I asked Perry to stall her there so I could make this a true surprise. Over here by the phone are our cell phone numbers, the pediatrician's number, my Mom's home number, Ella and Sam's number on Base…obviously, in case of an emergency dial 9-1-1." He looked over the top of Jim's head at Chloe, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly to indicate that she should call upon his alter-ego if there were a _true_ emergency—a message which she got loud and clear. "I also called a pizza place about ten minutes ago and ordered a large cheese pizza for dinner—the money's on the counter—and Haley's baby food is in the second cabinet to the left of the refrigerator. Her bedtime is at 8, Jason's is at 9…"

"Aww, but Dad, it's Friday!! Can't I stay up just a _little bit_ later?" his son whined.

Clark shot his son a semi-stern look. "No you may not. Remember what happened the last time we let you stay up 'just a little bit' later? You almost fell asleep in Danny's birthday cake the next day."

Jason frowned at the reminder from his Dad and crossed his arms in front of his chest in a huff, looking like an angry, miniature version of the Man of Steel; all that was missing was a red cape and the regal curl on his forehead. Fortunately, the comparison went unnoticed by all in the room save his father.

Resuming his speech, Clark added, "They're both washed and ready to go, all you need to do is make sure they brush their teeth, and Jason gets _one_ story before bedtime." He gave his son a warning look, expecting to be contradicted again, but Jason knew he'd be fighting a losing battle with his father still in the room. Ever Lois Lane's son, he knew he could work on Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Chloe later.

"Don't worry about a thing, we have everything under control here," Jim said, hastening his friend to the doorway.

"Alright, if you say so…and remember, call my cell phone if there are any problems ok?" He glanced at Chloe for reassurance.

"Go already, we'll be fine! Have a good time with Lois and we'll see you two when you get back," she replied, patting him on the shoulder as he stood half-in and half-out the door with his coat on.

"Ok, I'm going…be good kids!" and he tripped on the toe of his shoe as he stepped out fully into the hallway, the doorway closing behind him.

Jim turned around and peered down into the young boy's face. "Who's up for some coloring?"

"ME, ME!"

* * *

**6:25 pm. **"Jason be careful, that pizza's hot," Chloe reminded him as she set Haley in her highchair to feed her. Jim closed the door behind the delivery boy and walked over to the kitchen, searching for some plates before returning to the table. Jason sat in his seat, eyes wide at the sight of the cheesy pie before him; he never tired of pizza, which used to be a forbidden treat when he had all his allergies, and he smacked his lips hungrily. His uncle dispensed one slice on a paper plate and slid it over in his direction, then did the same for Chloe and allowed one for himself.

Jason dug in hungrily, sinking his teeth into the tip of the pizza slice and pulling back on the crust, looking like a stubborn dog refusing to relinquish his bone. "Jim, cut that up into smaller bites for him, it's too big for him to be eating like that!" she admonished her husband as she tied a pink and yellow bib around the baby's neck. Haley cooed excitedly and clapped her hands together, kicking the footboard of the highchair as she heard a familiar snap as the lid on the baby food jar came off.

Jim looked over as his nephew got a handle on his pizza slice and was now munching happily away, a little bit of tomato sauce dribbling down his chin. He got up, grabbed three paper napkins and doled them out. "He's fine, Clo, see? He's not going to choke." Turning his attention to the infant seated before his wife, he cooed, "Haley, can you say Jim-mee? Jim-mee?"

Chloe fumed at her husband's casual attitude toward child-rearing as she brought a spoonful of creamed peas up to Haley's mouth. The infant grabbed it reflexively and flung it in her aunt's face before the young woman had a chance to react, giggling happily all the while. Meanwhile, the green, pureed goo slid slowly down Chloe's left cheek, causing the boys to howl with laughter.

* * *

**7:33 pm**. "Here Jim, I think you need the practice," Chloe announced, setting Haley in his arms where he and Jason sat on the sofa, watching commercials in-between a movie on TV.

"Practice?" he asked, looking up at her with questioning eyes. "Practice for what?" Innocently sniffing the air around him, he suddenly realized what needed to be done. "Oh man, that smell's awful! How many jars of that pea mush did you feed her anyway?"

Chloe stood in front of the TV to garner his full attention, one hand on her hip. "I fed her one and a half jars, just like the side of the bottle said to do for a one year old! Now come on, she needs to be changed…the diapers and wipes are on the changing table in her bedroom at the end of the hall, next to the bathroom. Or do you need me to show you how to do it?" she asked haughtily, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her husband didn't know it, but she had been the babysitting queen back in the day in Smallville.

He frowned and shot her an annoyed look. "No, I _know_ how to change a diaper…I was fourteen when Justin and Jill were born, remember? Believe me, I've changed my fair share," he shot back hotly, standing up with Haley outstretched in his arms as he meandered down the hall. "Come on Little One, let's get you all cleaned up."

Chloe sank into the warm spot left by her husband on the sofa beside Jason—that's when she noticed the empty candy box sitting between them and the chocolate ring around Jason's mouth. The boy twitched in his seat and shot his aunt a sugary smile.

"JIM!!"

He poked his head out of Haley's room, the baby still in his arms, looking panicked. "WHAT? WHAT IS IT?! IS EVERYTHING OK?!"

"_What_ did you feed Jason?!"

"Huh? I just dug a box of chocolate covered raisins out of the drawer in the kitchen once I saw that the new King Kong movie was on and we settled down to watch it, why?" As if to confirm his statement, Peter Jackson's computer-animated monster roared to life on screen before them, making Jason jump a mile up out of his seat and speeding into his Aunt's lap for shelter.

"Ohhhh, you have GOT to be kidding me," she seethed as she changed the channel to something more innocuous and tried to soothe her sugar-charged nephew cowering in her lap.

* * *

**9:15 pm. **Haley had been put to bed over an hour earlier with little fanfare, and Chloe now stepped quietly away from her room, shutting the door behind her after checking on the little girl. She strolled down the hall past Jason's room, expecting to find the door closed and the light off, but instead found Jim sitting in bed next to the small boy, reading from a paperback volume in his hands.

"And with that, Diego turned to his partner and said…"

"Ahem," came her annoyed cough from where she stood in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Jim looked up at her from his perch on the bed. "What?"

"Jason was supposed to be in bed fifteen minutes ago."

"I know, but he asked for just one more story so I figured 'What's the harm?'. Besides, I already asked him and he doesn't have _any_ birthday parties to go to tomorrow, right Little Man?"

Jason smiled and nodded at his aunt, happy with the prospect that he was able to stay up late AND get an extra bedtime story out of the deal now that his parents weren't home. Chloe stalked into the room trying to keep her anger at bay, took the book out of her husband's hands and set it down on the nightstand next to Jason's red pencil lamp. "I'm sorry, Buddy, but your mom or dad will have to finish reading this to you tomorrow night, ok? It's past your bedtime."

"But Aunt Chloe…" he whined.

She brought the covers up and tucked them under his chin as Jim got off the duvet. "No buts. Now good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite." Chloe leaned over and brushed the hair off his forehead, giving him a quick kiss before leaving the room.

"Sorry about that, Jason," Jim said softly as he made his way over to the doorway. Flicking off the lights, he whispered, "Good night," and prepared to shut the door.

"Uncle Jimmy?"

He swung the door open again at the sound of his name. "Yes?"

"Could you leave the door open just a little bit, please?"

"Sure thing." Jim left the door open a crack and proceeded down the hall to where Chloe was seated on the living room sofa. He could tell by her body language and by the way she flicked through the channels on the television with no regard for what was on that she was plenty ticked off; about what though, he had no idea. To make matters worse, he was none too pleased with her attitude towards him all evening.

He settled himself down on the opposite end of the sofa and studied her closely. It also didn't escape Jim's notice that she didn't draw closer to him so he could wrap his arm around her, as was her habit at home. With the children asleep, a tense silence prevailed over the Kent family apartment.

* * *

**10: 51 pm. **"Thank you for the wonderful surprise, Clark," Lois uttered as she pressed her lips against his while standing just inches from their front door. The pair were acting more like besotted teenagers than a young married couple with two small children, and Clark reveled in the fact that she still felt just as much of a spark for him now as she did when they first met. _Tonight was a __very__ good idea: dinner in Paris, a hotel room overlooking the Seine for a little privacy and TLC…we need to ask Chloe and Jim to baby-sit more often_, he thought to himself with a smile as he fumbled for his house keys. Lois backed away, reaching into his pocket and fishing them out with a seductive smile curled upon her lips.

They were still making eyes at each other when they walked in and found Jim and Chloe sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, silently watching a documentary on the plight of the Pelican. Wordlessly, Chloe rose up from the sofa to get her coat and purse, while Jim moved for the remote to turn off the television before falling into step behind her.

"Did everything go ok tonight guys?" Lois asked, knowing full well by the amount of tension in the room that things hadn't.

Chloe walked up to her friend and smiled. "Everything was fine…except _SOMEBODY_ here fed Jason lots of candy after we had pizza _AND_ let him watch a scary movie. He asked that we keep the door open…"

"Jason hasn't needed a nightlight in years," Lois informed Clark worriedly in a hushed tone as she turned to face him, cutting Chloe off in mid-sentence.

"…and he's only had one minor nightmare. Haley's been fine—she went down at 8 o'clock sharp and hasn't made more then a peep since then. I'm really sorry about all of this you guys…" she pleaded, watching the silent communication that flew back and forth between the two parents.

Clark reached out a hand and placed it on his friend's shoulder while watching how Jim stood a short ways away from them with his hands thrust in his pockets and an expression that alternated between apologetic and irate. "Chloe, it's fine. These things happen and in a few days' time, all Jason will remember is that he had a fun evening with his aunt and uncle."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be down for the rest of the night just like his sister, so don't worry about it," Lois picked up, trying her best to reassure her friend.

"Ok…well I guess we'll get out of your hair then. I hope you had a nice evening out," Chloe replied quietly and as she cheerfully as she could muster on her way out the door, still ignoring Jim.

He followed his wife, pausing with one hand on the doorknob and added, "Yeah, um, hope you guys had a good time…see you on Monday," before closing it shut.


	40. Chapter 40

_**East Side Slums,**_** March 11, 2010. **Jacob stood on a wooden box at the front of the warehouse addressing all the employees within the corporation, from the youngest street runners to the more seasoned and jaded dealers in the apartment buildings; even some of the men and women who regularly transported Uncle's product off the boats were in attendance. As for the man himself, well, he stood behind the tinted glass in an office high above the floor, watching the meeting transpire.

A six foot folding table was situated to Jacob's right, laden with four, closed cardboard boxes. He checked the clipboard in his hands once more before letting it drop to his side and beginning with the meeting.

"Ahem," he called out loudly, gathering everyone's attention. "Thank you for gathering here this evening—we'll keep this brief, as is custom. Uncle has a new insurance policy he'd like to issue to you, and he asks that you keep this on your person at all times, same as before; however, he would like me to stress the point that you are to use this new policy only in the event of a _true_ emergency, as we wouldn't want to arouse undue suspicion with _him_ or anyone outside the community. Is that understood?" Jacob scanned the crowd with a sharp eye to see if there were any questions before continuing. "Very well then. Shane will now demonstrate how to use the aerosol container of Special K and then I'd like you all to form a single file line here to collect your can…"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**March 11, 2010, 11:26 pm. **The cab ride home to 324 Hoyden Street was just as quiet as the last two hours at Lois and Clark's had been, and Chloe was beginning to grow apprehensive of Jim's prolonged silence; normally he'd try and crack a joke or something, just to ease the tension, but the silence between them was deafening. He didn't utter a word until they were back in their own apartment with the door safely shut behind them.

"What the hell was all that about?!" he cried out furiously as she stood beside the hall closet in the midst of hanging up her winter coat.

"What the hell was _what_ all about?!" she retorted at the explosion, jumping immediately to the defensive. "You're the one that fed Jason candy and let him watch a scary movie that's going to keep him up half the night!"

"No, I mean what was up with the Gestapo Aunt routine?!"

"Well somebody had to be the disciplinarian, it's not like you were paying attention to Clark's instructions!" Chloe shot back as she stomped down the hall toward their bedroom, Jim hot on her heels and still wearing his coat.

"Jesus, Clo, those weren't even our kids!! We got to be the cool aunt and uncle for _one_ evening and you had to go and act like you had a big stick up your…"

She whipped around to face him, standing at the foot of their bed with eyes flashing red. "If you know what's good for you, James Olsen, you will NOT finish that sentence!" she uttered, shaking a warning finger at him.

He fumed at her veiled threat, his eyes narrowing into slits as she stalked around the room snatching up her pajamas, pillow and assorted blankets. "All we had to do tonight was make sure Haley and Jason got fed, put to bed and didn't burn the apartment down while their parents were out, but you had to go around like we were on some sort of military training mission! You have absolutely NO idea how to relax around kids, do you? You don't know the first thing about joking around, being their pal…

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, her face falling in surprise at the revelation that just popped into her head. "I married an oversized kid. That's exactly what you are, aren't you?" She looked him over accusatorially. "You're an overgrown child who wants to be friends with everybody and doesn't know how to say no to anyone, not even to an eight year old."

Her last remark sent Jim off the deep end. "That is incredibly unfair and you know it!" he shouted, his face red as he stood in the doorway to their bedroom, watching her in the middle of the hall. "I was fourteen when Justin and Jill were born and when our Dad split I became the only father figure they had! It was MY job to change their diapers, MY job to feed them and Josh and Jenny when Mom was at work, MY job to punish them when they misbehaved…so please, Herr Fuhrer, forgive me for taking this one opportunity tonight to have a little fun with our only niece and nephew!!"

Chloe stared him down and, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to apologize for his outburst, she spun around and tread heavily into the living room to sleep on the pull-out couch. She distinctly remembered hearing a few choice curse words emanating from the bedroom before the pine door was slammed shut in a rage, and the young couple spent that evening sleeping in their separate beds.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**March 12, 2010, 9:58 am. **Chloe awoke from her spot on the sleeper sofa and peered around blearily for her robe. Finding the deep purple wrap nearby she slipped it on over her slender shoulders and plodded down the hall to the bathroom, ignoring her husband as he sat sullenly at the kitchen table in his navy blue robe reading the paper. Jim looked up and over at her disheveled self, knowing well enough to leave her alone until she'd had her coffee.

One shower and a mug of coffee later Chloe still wasn't speaking to him. "Do you want to talk about what happened last night?" he asked, lowering the Sports section as she perused the headlines he'd set aside for her. Her green eyes shot daggers at him, hitting their mark most assuredly. "I'll take that as a no then." He pulled the paper back up to shield himself from her glare.

* * *

**2:28 pm.** He came up from the laundry room in the basement with a basket overflowing with freshly cleaned and folded clothes to discover Chloe emptying out the dishwasher and tidying up in the kitchen. Setting the basket down on the bed in the room he once shared with his wife, Jim headed back out and down the hall to see if he could lend her a hand. Chloe re-buffed him as he leaned over to reach for some of the clean silverware. He stood back, arms crossed in front of his chest and leveled his gaze at her.

"I take it you're still unwilling to talk about our argument?"

She ignored him as she set about her work, and he stormed off into the living room, turning the stereo up as loud as he dared to cover up the deafening silence.

* * *

**11:48 pm. **Her husband caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye as she meandered on down the hall to use the bathroom before bed. "Oh for the love of Pete, can we just get on with this so that we can go back to both of us sleeping in our own bed?!" he cried out in frustration as he realized she'd made up the sleeper sofa once again.

"What's the point of talking if you're not even willing to listen to me? It's not like you listened to me on Friday night," she said coldly, stepping into the bathroom and locking the door behind her.

Jim stared dazedly at the door. _What the hell is that supposed to mean…? _"Just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?! You were the one treating me like I didn't know Haley's head from her behind!!" he shouted at the door. The only response he got was from the faucet gushing out water.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**March 13, 2010, 9:27 am. **Chloe had no choice but to wake up, what with all the noise going on in the kitchen a few feet away from where she slept. She stuck her head up and over the back of the couch to see what all the commotion was and discovered Jim bopping around, whistling to his iPod while making himself an omelet; if he didn't have Coldplay streaming through his ears just then he wouldn't have been the least surprised to hear his wife growl numerous profanities from her makeshift bed.

Jim slid the omelet onto his plate and looked up in time to catch her eye. Pulling one of the earpieces out of his ear, he asked in an overly-sweet and overly-loud voice, "Oh I'm sorry, _Honey_, did I wake you? Silly me, I guess since I don't _listen_ I must not have remembered that you once told me you don't like to wake up before 10 am when you can help it." Jim flashed her an unctuous grin and sat down to enjoy his breakfast. "Would you like an omelet?"

She rose up out of bed and walked down the hall to their bedroom, slamming their door in frustration behind her. When Chloe re-emerged ten minutes later he found her fully dressed with her purse slung over her shoulder, heading for the front closet to collect her coat.

"Where are you going?" he asked as disinterestedly as he could manage.

Chloe slid the coat on up over her shoulders, her back to her husband. "Out."

Her monosyllabic answer worried him greatly. "When are you coming back?"

"Later."

* * *

**10:06 am. **"Hey Clo, what a surprise! Come on in," Clark exclaimed with a genuine smile as he stepped back to admit his best friend into the apartment.

She remained standing in the hallway, looking very sullen. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just barge in like this…"

Lois came into view just then, holding Haley's hands above the little girl's head as she tottered along on the floor. "Chloe, hi! How are you? Come on in, don't be such a stranger!"

"I would, but I'm really not great company at the moment. I was actually wondering if I could borrow Clark for an hour or so, just to go grab a cup of coffee…I wouldn't normally ask like this, knowing how precious your weekends are to you, but I really need a man's perspective on something right now."

"Oh! Well, um…" she looked over at her husband and he met her gaze, seeking her approval. "Sure, that should be fine." He reached over to the hook behind the door and grabbed his jacket. "And Clark? Don't forget, you promised Jason you'd spend some time in the park with him this afternoon—'man-to-man'."

"I won't forget. Bye bye!" he said, switching to baby speak while waving at his wife and daughter as he closed the door behind him.

The three block walk to the coffee shop was done in companionable silence, as Chloe seemed to be contemplating what she wanted to say and Clark wondered what it was that caused her to be so distressed and out of sorts. They ordered their drinks and sat at a small table by the window, watching the people stroll by on the brisk Sunday morning.

"So what's on your mind, Clo?" he asked by way of starting the conversation. She turned to face him and the sad look in her expressive green eyes pierced him straight through the heart.

"Jim and I had a fight on Friday night—a big one."

His face fell. "Was it about the kids? Because I'm sorry, I should've been clearer before I left but I was so anxious to get to Lois…"

Chloe stopped absently stirring her beverage and held up a hand to stop him. "It wasn't about the kids, Clark. The kids were fine. It was about the way Jim did, or rather _didn't_, listen to me about what to do with them. I asked him to cut Jason's pizza into bite-sized pieces, he ignored me; I asked him to change Haley and he just stared at me blankly for the longest time like I was speaking a foreign tongue; and _you_ were the one who told him that Jason only got one story and he had to be in bed by 9, and there Jim was reading from storybook number two at 9:15 with no end in sight! It's like my lips were moving the entire evening and he paid no regard to what was coming out, and then _he_ had the audacity to call _ME_ Gestapo Aunt!! I mean…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back it up there! He called you what?"

"Gestapo Aunt! Can you believe it?!"

Clark couldn't help himself, his booming baritone laugh soon filled up every corner of the coffee shop, drawing stares from several other patrons. "Oh great, not you too," she muttered, slurping from her cup of java.

"No, not me too, Clo; I don't think you're 'Gestapo Aunt', it's just a funny mental image, that's all, you've got to admit it."

She gave him half a smirk, finally seeing the humor of the comment. "Fine."

"So what's the problem then? You guys had a fight, you made up…"

"That's the point," she cut him off, gesticulating wildly with one hand. "We didn't make up. I called him an overgrown kid, he told me I had a stick up my you-know-where, and I haven't spoken to him since. But in my defense, he's been giving me the cold shoulder too…sort of," she admitted off-handedly.

From behind his glasses Clark arched an eyebrow in surprise, clasping his mug in both hands as if drawing warmth from the brew. "Sort of?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well then, there's your problem right there," he rejoined quickly, drawing her gaze sharply away from the window.

"Pardon?"

"You two _need_ to talk about it—the fight, I mean."

"So you're saying I'm the one in the wrong here, is that it?" she asked him pointedly, getting ready to re-direct her anger at him.

He stopped fidgeting with his glasses and his cobalt eyes locked with hers. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all. What I _am_ saying is that you and Jim need to talk things out and compromise when it comes to situations like these where your opinions on things are different; you're newlyweds, yes, and everything has been lovey-dovey so far, but you'll soon find that you're not always going to agree on everything. Heck, even Lois and I don't always see eye-to-eye on certain subjects—and before you open your wise acre mouth, it has nothing to do with our difference in height, I assure you. We would get nowhere if we didn't discuss things and present a united front, especially in front of the kids, and if we don't agree then we negotiate until we do."

Chloe took a long gulp and finished off her coffee, then turned to stare out the window at the dreary Sunday weather rolling along. "I've been going about this all wrong with him, haven't I?"

"That's not for me to say really, but I do think you should talk with him."

She turned to face her wise friend just then and a thoughtful smile crossed her lips. "So how much do I owe you for this therapy session, Dr. Kent?"

His hearty, booming laugh echoed once again throughout the store, drawing still more stares from everyone inside, even the baristas. "Don't worry about it, I'll just put it on your tab," he said with a smile. "But don't be surprised when I show up on _your_ doorstep years from now with one of my kids' college tuition bills in hand."

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!"

* * *

**12:20 pm.** "I brought home lunch," she called out softly, holding the brown paper bag aloft as if waving a white flag as she re-entered their apartment. A quick look around showed her that nothing was missing or out of place, save for one important thing. "Jim?" she called out again, still receiving no answer. Chloe moved swiftly down the hall to the bedroom, not bothering to relinquish her hold on the bag or take off her jacket, only to discover that he wasn't in there either. Turning back around and heading towards the living room she came face to face with her husband and yelped in surprise.

"AHHHH!!"

"Sorry, sorry!" he exclaimed, holding his grocery bag laden hands up in surrender as best he could manage. "The door was left open a bit and I came in to investigate." Chloe craned her head around the wall to see that the door was left slightly ajar from her return home and she then turned to look back at Jim. "So, what's in the bag?" he asked, eying the package suspiciously. "Or are you still not talking to me?"

He watched his wife close her eyes and take a deep cleansing breath before opening up the package of food. "I realized we didn't have any lunch food in the house so I grabbed a couple of burritos while I was out."

His face fell in momentary shock at her words, as that was the most she'd spoken to him since Friday evening, but he promptly regained his composure. "Oh, well I went to the supermarket while you were gone and grabbed some groceries, but I guess we can save the cold cuts for later." He plunked the bags down on the counter and began putting the perishable food items away as Chloe sidled up beside him to help.

Jim eyed her guardedly before deciding to test his newfound luck. "At the risk of sounding like a broken record here, would _now_ be a better time to talk about what happened Friday night?"

She closed the freezer door and stood up, moving over to lean against the counter beside where he was working. "I didn't appreciate the 'stick-in-the-you-know-where' comment, nor did I like being called 'Gestapo Aunt' either," she told him through semi-clenched teeth.

"Well I didn't exactly appreciate being called an overgrown kid—it's bad enough that I'm thirty-four years old and my own mother treats me like one, but to have my wife think along the same lines as my mother irks me even more," he informed her as he tucked a box of crackers in a nearby cabinet.

"Duly noted. We should have talked things out Friday night instead of going to sleep angry with each other and keeping it up all weekend…"

"It's not like I haven't been trying! It's you who's been giving me the cold shoulder and sleeping in the living room all weekend long!"

He expected a fiery reproach from her about his own behavior at the Kents and later at their place, but what he got instead shocked him even more. "I know. You were right in trying to get me to talk and I'm sorry for my behavior."

Chloe watched as Jim balked and fumbled with a canister of coffee in his hands. "Come again?"

"I said you were right and I'm sorry."

He glanced at her suspiciously from out of the corner of his eye. "May I get that in writing?"

"Why?" she asked curiously.

"Because I've heard from other married men that their wives rarely apologize to them, let alone admit that they were wrong, and I'd like to have this declaration of yours signed and notarized for the sake of posterity."

"Hey now, you're not totally blameless in all of this here either!"

Jim let loose a sigh as she fumed and he turned to squat on his haunches and put a new bottle of dishwashing detergent under the sink. "And the moment has passed…" he muttered under his breath. Turning back to face Chloe he found his wife with one hand on the counter and another on her hip, glaring at him. "Ok, so maybe I went a bit overboard with the 'cool uncle' bit with Jason, I'll admit it."

Her features softened at the admission. "Do you think that maybe next time you could try listening to me instead of just dismissing me so quickly?"

"Only if you'll try listening to me now when I tell you that you need to relax a bit around kids. They're not little automatons you know." She nodded her head slightly in agreement. "You're also assuming there _will_ be a next time," he remarked with a small laugh. "I highly doubt that Lois and Clark will want to have me back again to baby-sit, given the way I pumped their son full of sugar and let him stay up so late…"

Chloe cut him off. "It was only fifteen minutes, I should have let you finish reading him the story…" Her voice trailed off.

A peaceful silence fell over the kitchen as they stared first at the empty grocery bags, then at one another. "So are we ok now?" Jim finally gathered the courage to ask. She walked right up to him, snaking her hands around his chest until they met behind his back as she latched on for a hug.

"I think so…until our next fight, that is."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Great, just great," he groaned.

"Looks like the honeymoon's over," Chloe announced with finality, backing away from him before reaching out for his hand. The crestfallen look on her husband's face made her laugh. "At least, in _one_ respect, anyway." She dragged him out of the kitchen and down the hallway, hungrily kissing his lips all the way.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Schuster Prison, **_**May 3, 2010. **It was the furthest away from the City that Leroy had ever allowed himself to travel once he'd risen to a position of prominence within the organization he now ran, and he made the journey once every few years from the backseat of a chauffeured black Cadillac. Part of the deal he'd made that kept him in business all these years was taking care of those who got 'pinched'; in reward for their silence he personally saw to them on the day of their release and forever thereafter. He sat there now, staring absently out over the fields and woods that flew by outside his tinted windows, while Jacob managed certain affairs from a PDA as he sat beside the driver in the front passenger seat. The car began to slow to a stop and pulled off the road, yards away from the prison entrance marked by a tall brick wall and surrounded by a high chain link fence topped with razor wire.

Jacob turned around in his seat. "We're here, Uncle." He stepped out of the front door and stood beside Leroy's tinted back seat window, eying the prison guards suspiciously as he waited for the gate to open.

Kirk Fraser emerged twenty-five minutes later, a large, brown, paper bag filled with his effects held tight in one hand. He wore a white t-shirt, dusty blue jeans and brown work boots with a dark winter coat draped over his arm as the chain link gate parted just wide enough to allow him through. Kirk's eyes darted up and down the road nervously until he caught sight of Jacob standing there waiting patiently for him and he broke out in a crooked smile. The man waited until the ex-con drew nearer before opening the back door for him, then he climbed into the front seat once more and the Cadillac turned back toward Metropolis once more.

Leroy surreptitiously studied the young man beside him to see how the last two and a half years in prison had changed him. Kirk appeared more callous and indifferent to the world around him. He also had a hard edge to him that was indicative of time spent in prison, along with a good deal of ink that adorned what had once been bare arms.

"Hello Uncle," the man said quietly once the prison was nothing but a speck in the rear-view mirror. "I wasn't sure if you would come for me. I know you said you would, but…"

"There are no buts, Kirk," Uncle cut in, looking the man straight in the eye. "You kept your end of the bargain and now I'm keeping mine; those are terms that I _never_ re-neg upon." The young ex-con nodded in comprehension. "I have an apartment in place for you in exchange for your silence these last few years, as well as the cash bonus that was discussed when you were first brought on staff. You will be checking in with your parole officer first thing tomorrow morning so as to NOT arouse suspicion. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**May 7, 2010. **Lois strode over to Harold's Diner to meet Chloe for their customary, weekly lunch with a pleased smile on her face, having just concluded an investigation that had led to a front page by-line _above_ the fold. Not only was she in good spirits but so was the Chief, and she hoped that she and her husband would be able to get out of work a little earlier than usual that day to enjoy some time with their children. A quick glance across the aisle that separated their desks before she left showed that he'd already darted off for his third rescue of the morning, so she left him a brief note before making her way to meet her friend.

Chloe was already seated in a corner booth, a glass of water before her and a menu held up to her face. The squeak of vinyl as Lois sat down alerted her to her friend's presence.

"Hey Clo, sorry to make you wait."

She waved the apology off. "Don't worry about it; I only got here two minutes ago. I took the liberty of getting your coffee for you though; Doris should be back with it in a sec. Man am I starving…"

Lois' nose was now equally buried in her menu. "As am I…are you going to get your usual tuna salad?" She looked up and over at her blonde friend as the woman stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"Oh God no, just the smell of that right now makes me gag…ugh!" She shuddered involuntarily. "No, I'm thinking of getting the…"

"Here's your coffee, Lois," Doris said, sidling up to the table with the bright white mug. "Are you ladies ready to order or do you need a minute?"

"I'm ready," Chloe began, glancing at the menu once more. "I think I'll have the…"

Lois unceremoniously cut Chloe off. "I'm sorry, but could you give us another minute please?"

"Sure thing." The older woman sauntered off to help other customers.

"Lo-is, I was in the middle of ordering my food…!"

The _Daily Planet_ reporter turned to her friend, knowing she was onto something big. "How long have you known?" she asked point blank.

Chloe took a sip of her water to stave off the forthcoming interrogation and unsuccessfully feigned ignorance. "Known what?"

"Oh come off it, I know you're pregnant! So, how long have you known?!" Lois squealed delightedly.

The mother-to-be glanced down briefly and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her red blouse. "I began to suspect on Tuesday, but I didn't know for sure until this morning when I went to the doctor's office and he confirmed it for me."

"Chloe, I can't believe you and Jim kept this from me! Ahhh, come here!!" and she slipped out of the booth to give her friend a tight hug before the young woman could reply.

"Lois…Lois, you're cutting off my air supply, not to mention the baby's …"

"Oh sorry," she said, gently backing away. Both women had huge grins on their faces. Doris came back and took their order, then quickly left them to their own devices. "So, how did you and Jim manage keep this information secret for three and a half days?!"

"Easily; Jim doesn't know."

"WHAT?!" Lois cried out, spluttering on her coffee. "What do you mean he doesn't know? It only took me two minutes to figure it out and you two live under the same roof! He's your _husband_, how can he not know?!"

Chloe smiled curiously and ignored the question by asking one of her own. "Yeah, how did you know I was pregnant?"

"You weren't drinking your usual fifth cup of coffee with me and you said the smell of the tuna salad made you ill; those are pretty strong indicators that one is with child," she replied, dipping her spoon in her coffee and twirling it around absently as she spoke. "Not to mention, I've got two of my own."

"Well, it's a good thing you're the reporter and not Jim then because he hasn't picked up on any of this at all. He's normally the first one up in the morning, and so these last few days he's handed me my mug of coffee as usual, but then I wait until he's in the bathroom and pour it down the sink. And I've only really had one morning's worth of morning sickness so far and that was yesterday, so I just blamed it on the take-out we'd eaten the night before."

"Aha…and _why_ haven't you told him yet?"

"Because I didn't want to get his hopes up if I wasn't pregnant in case it was all just speculation and wishful thinking. We've wanted kids since before our wedding," she said, her eyes welling up with happy tears.

"Oh Chloe…" Lois reached a hand out over the speckled gray Formica tabletop and placed it on top of her friend's, giving her a light, reassuring squeeze and forcing her to meet her happy gaze. "So _when_ are you going to tell him?"

Chloe sighed thoughtfully and a playful smile crossed her face. "Tonight; I plan on telling him tonight."

* * *

As Lois and Chloe sat in the diner catching up, Superman was flying back over the Atlantic Ocean after having performed a rescue in Germany, and the Metropolis skyline now rose up to meet him. He understood exactly why people sought out the adrenaline rush felt from sky-diving—he felt the same thrill every time he took off into the air—but he really wished that they'd all learn to pack their parachutes better so there was less chance of a malfunction as they plummeted back toward Earth. Clark had caught the young jumper just in the nick of time, and had set him down gently on the ground near his friends before returning half-way around the globe to his day job.

He felt a bit light-headed as he flew over the Slums toward the _Daily Planet_, and he reached a hand up near his temple. The sensation itself wasn't all that new, nor did it worry him too terribly much; after all, with the Slums' proximity to the docks he figured it was just from residual Kryptonite that settled in the bay after the formation of New Krypton four years ago and nothing more. The headache it caused him was slight, and it didn't necessarily interfere with his rescue work in the area, so he never bothered to tell Lois. After all, it always passed as soon as he cleared the air space over that section of town.

The cell phone he clipped to the back of his belt rang out as he soared overhead, and he paused high in the sky over Downtown to answer it. "Hi Hon."

"Oh my gosh, Clark, you're never going to believe this! I just finished having lunch with Chloe and…"

* * *

Chloe arrived at home before her husband that evening and hastily changed out of her work clothes and into more casual jeans and a light blue t-shirt. She caught a glimpse of herself as she walked past the long mirror affixed to the back of the bedroom door and stared at her profile, a hand placed over her abdomen. _I wonder how long I'll be able to get away with dressing like this, _she mused privately, sticking both hands underneath the shirt and stretching it out incrementally. _How big will I get? Will I have weird cravings like Lois did? How long will I be able to keep working before people start to notice? Will I be darting up to use the bathroom every ten minutes? I wonder if it's a boy or a girl…_Chloe let loose a woeful sigh as she headed out towards the kitchen to unpack the groceries for the night's special meal. _I wish I could talk all this over with my Mom…_

* * *

"Jim, you better move that laptop off the table, I'm almost done with the veggies here. How's the meat looking?" she asked, turning to look over her towel-draped shoulder at her multi-tasking husband.

He slid the computer off the tabletop and sidled over to the grill where two steaks were cooking. "The meat's looking good," he informed her, prodding one flank with the tongs in his hand. "You want yours cooked medium-well, right?"

"No, well done."

"Oh," he uttered in a surprised tone. "You normally take it medium-well."

She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "I just feel like something different tonight."

Jim turned the electric grill off and grabbed two plates from the cabinet beside his wife. "What are you cooking there?" he asked, reaching around her and staring down at her frying pan.

"_Baby_ corn and _baby_ carrots…" she said slowly, attempting to hide the blush that rose up into her cheeks at the mention of the word 'baby' and waiting to see if he would catch on.

He didn't.

"Alright, finger veggies!" he exclaimed excitedly, placing a steak on each plate and making his way back to the table. Chloe let loose a sigh and took the towel off her shoulder, clutching the handle of the pan and unceremoniously dumping the vegetables into a bowl. _Ok, plan A didn't work…time to try plan B…_she thought as she grabbed the Real Estate section of that day's edition of the _Daily Planet_.

She sat down at the table with the paper folded across her lap, cutting up her steak as her husband reached over for the vegetables; it wasn't until mid-way through the meal that she slipped the section of the newspaper across the table towards him.

"What's this?" he asked as he took it up in one hand while munching thoughtfully on a piece of corn.

"It's the Real Estate section," she informed him hesitantly, waiting to gauge his reaction.

He flipped it open and perused a few of the apartments she'd circled in red earlier that afternoon. "So Mrs. Hermann told you too, huh? I asked her not to worry you about it, that it was probably all speculation anyway…"

"Worry me about what?" Chloe asked him, perplexed.

Jim's head snapped up from the paper and over toward her. "What do you mean worry you about what? You mean she didn't tell you? I thought that's why you passed me the Real Estate section?"

"No, I just thought it might be time again for us to think about getting a bigger place…"

He frowned worriedly and chewed on the inside of his left cheek. "Oh. I thought Mrs. Hermann let you in on her crazy rumor that the landlords might be selling the building and tearing it down; of course anything she says I've learned not to take at face value, but there is always a grain of truth…" she let his voice drone on un-heard. _Plan B has backfired…looks like it's all up to Plan C._

She cut Jim off before he could begin in on his complaints about their neighbor again. "Do you want to go to the Vanderworth Museum after dinner tonight? I heard they have a new exhibit in."

Her husband glanced over at her, startled by her sudden change in topic. "Um sure, ok, that sounds nice." They spent the rest of their dinner chatting amiably; Jim focused on the number of photos he had coming out in the latest edition of the _Planet_ while Chloe held off from telling him about the impending _addition_ to their family…

* * *

"I didn't know the new exhibit was all photography," Jim remarked as they paid for admittance and strolled through the expansive lobby. Banners hung on the walls around them, announcing the Anne Geddes exhibit located in the transitive wing of the museum for the next month and a half.

"Well why don't we go check it out now?" his wife suggested, tugging on his arm and guiding him in that direction. "We've pretty much covered the rest of the museum in our past visits together."

"Ok, if you insist," he said obligingly, following her through the great oak doors into the room.

They toured through the gallery, ooh-ing and ahh-ing along with the rest of the museum-going public over the images of newborn babies gracing the walls. Jim was most impressed with the large scale photos—his favorite was a piece entitled '123 Pots' where 123 babies sat upright in large terra cotta flower pots in a garden store—and it amazed him how a fellow photographer could keep so many young children so quiet and focused all at the same time. Chloe fell in love with the individual portraits particularly the ones of children dressed as or nestled in the large blossoming flowers.

"I wonder if Jenny and Brian's baby will look like this one," Jim teased, pointing to a newborn hanging in mid-air in what looked like a cheese-cloth sack, its tiny face scrunched against the mesh.

She lightly whacked his bicep. "Jimmy! That's not very nice…" Her eyes roamed over the rest of the gallery as they strolled along, holding hands. "But we'll only have three more months before we find out; that's when little Colby will arrive." Chloe stopped and turned to gaze upon a serene portrait of a sleeping three week old newborn being held aloft by what appeared to be its mother's hands. "I wonder what our baby will look like." She glowed with maternal pride as she spoke, even as she felt Jim tensing beside her.

* * *

He'd been staring up at the portrait, marveling at how a being could be so small and look so calm and at peace being held in the air like that, when he took notice of what his wife was saying and grew rigid. His brown eyes fluttered open widely, as if he was opening them for the first time, and he slowly turned to face her. "_Our_ baby?"

Her smile grew as he gradually came to understand her. "We should know in about seven and a half months, give or take a week."

"Y-you, you mean you're…we're…?"

"Yes, we are."

"OH CHLOE!!" he shouted, grabbing her up in his arms and spinning her around in the middle of the gallery, drawing stares and murmurs of admonishment from the overly-hushed crowd. Jim set her down on her feet only when he was good and ready, kissing her passionately. Turning to the large circle of patrons, he announced, "I'M GOING TO BE A DADDY!!" Many of the confused faces around them turned into happy smiles and a small round of applause burst out amongst the hearty congratulations and cheers.

Jim turned to face Chloe again, catching her face in his hands, and murmured, "I'm going to be a daddy!" His mind instantly flew to all that being a father entailed, and the weight of responsibility came crashing down upon him like a heavy yoke on his shoulders and the color drained from his face.

"Jim?" she asked as his hands fell limply from her cheeks. "Jimmy?" Before she knew it he had fainted dead away on the gallery floor in front of a crowd of fifty plus people. "JIMMY!!" Looking around wildly, she sank to her knees and cradled his head in her lap. "Somebody call for help!"

An impossibly fast blur of red and blue entered the room, coming to a stop at the periphery of the crowd that closed in around the person in need of assistance. Superman urged them aside and made his way to the center, surprised to find Jim's unconscious head nestled on Chloe's knees. "What happened?!" he asked concernedly in his natural tone of voice, ignoring the crowd and taking stock of any possible internal injuries his friend might have suffered before moving him. Concluding that there were none he took the man easily into his left arm.

"H-he fainted," she replied in a voice barely above a whisper.

The on-lookers watched as the Man of Steel scooped the young woman up in his free arm as he prepared to take off for the hospital. "Yes, but why?"

Chloe bit her lip nervously as she looked over at her friend.

"Because she just told him he's going to be a father!" a middle-aged man standing to the left of Superman piped up.

She could tell that there was so much more was going on behind the strong façade her friend put on and she was the only one who noticed the slight widening of his bright, blue eyes at the news. Clark gave a nod of his head and wheeled about as the crowd parted, then flew off toward Metropolis General.

She stretched a hand out while they were in mid-air, bringing it to rest on Jim's back just to see for herself that he was still breathing. "I'm sure he'll be fine, Chloe," he hastened to reassure her once they were up in the air. "It looks like he took a bump to the head as he hit the ground, but as long as the doctors are able to rule out a concussion he should be able to go home fairly quickly."

"Good, good. We have a lot of things to talk about once he wakes up…"

"No kidding. So how come he just found out? Wait, when did _you_ find out? It can't have been too long since I can't hear the baby's heartbeat yet..."

"I've suspected for a couple of days, but I only just found out for certain this morning." She gave her super-charged friend the once over as they began their descent. "You men really are _that_ unobservant, aren't you?"

Clark gave her a look as he easily dodged the side of an apartment building. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean your wife figured it out after spending two minutes with me, and she neither lives with me _nor_ has super-powers; and I thought that, as a journalist _with _super-powers, you might have picked up on a few details," she quipped.

He frowned slightly at her sarcasm but couldn't come up with a proper retort as they were about to touch down at Metropolis General's Emergency Room entrance. Two nurses and an orderly rushed out with a gurney for Jim, swiftly taking him from Superman's arms, and leading Chloe into the building behind them to ascertain her husband's condition.


	42. Chapter 42

_**East Side Slums,**_** May 4, 2010. **Maxwell Berdoll ambled quietly along the sidewalk, ever aware of his surroundings as he quickened his step to reach the ramshackle building where his new 'friend' was housed. If there was one thing about this business he liked, it was that discretion was assured; neither the dealers nor the users liked to kiss and tell. He trod lightly up the steps and silently slipped through the front door as twilight descended over the gleaming City.

The fourth floor, much like the rest of the building, was dusty, creaky, and covered in mildewed and crumpling floral wallpaper. Max reached for the slip of paper in his pocket once more to reassure himself of the apartment he sought; quickly finding the matching number on a door, he gave three barely audible raps.

A young man in a dingy white wife-beater and a pair of faded blue jeans finally answered several minutes later by unlocking the numerous chains and deadbolts and flinging the door open, loudly. The fashion designer studied the dealer's appearance curiously before the young man turned away and strode down the narrow hall toward the kitchen; Max followed him uninvited.

The stench of the place was punctuated by the smell of malt liquor—whiskey in particular—and very stale fries. Max eyed the dealer nervously as the man wheeled about once more near the kitchen table, his palms flat on the surface, amply displaying the considerable artwork adorned there, while he forced himself to remain standing upright.

"How much you want?" the young man slurred.

"One ounce," he replied, unsure of himself. "No, wait…yes, one ounce."

The drunk dealer stalked off to the single bedroom and his glare compelled Max to wait. There was much commotion heard behind the door—the shifting of clothing on hangers, the banging of drawers—and eventually the 'businessman' re-emerged. He held the baggie aloft between two fingers on his right hand while his left palm was outstretched looking for cash. Max withdrew a thick billfold from his pocket and handed it to the man who flipped through the wad, counted it, and passed the designer his drug of choice.

_If it weren't for this damned show coming up on Friday and my damned nerves, I wouldn't be doing this again,_ the user's niggling conscience reasoned as he all but bolted from his dealer's apartment in the Slums, his jittery body desperately in need of a hit.

* * *

_**Metropolis General's Emergency Room**_**, May 7, 2010. **"Jim," Chloe called out from his bedside as he started coming around.

"Wh-where am I?"

She took his hand and clasped it gently in both of hers, trying to ignore the white bandage wrapped around his head. "You're at Metropolis General."

"Why am I in the hospital? I hate hospitals." His free hand rose up to his forehead to try and ease the dull throbbing he felt.

"You mean you don't remember?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Remember what? The last thing I remember was the two of us sitting at dinner, discussing crazy Mrs. Hermann."

"Oh God," she muttered, looking genuinely scared at the prospect of having to tell him their life-altering news a _second_ time, given how well things had gone the first.

A nurse clad in pea-green scrubs stood in the corner as she finished writing in Jim's chart, and came over to clip it back to the foot of his bed. "At least you have pillows around this time when you tell him," she remarked, winking slyly at Chloe before leaving them alone in their curtained-off space.

"Tell me what? Why would you need to have pillows around, Chloe?" She watched his startled reaction and remained mute, debating on how to tell him their good news…_again_. "Honey, you're scaring me, what's going on?"

"Well, we went to the Vanderworth Museum after dinner and decided to check out the new exhibit; it was of photographs taken by Anne Geddes…"

"Ok…"

"And you made an off-hand remark about what Brian and Jenny's baby would look like, and then I told you…" she stopped, too scared to continue. _What'll I do if he faints again? Oh my gosh—what if he decides it's too much and leaves?_ Her hormonal state did nothing to calm her nervous jitters.

"What, Chloe, you told me what?" he urged her on in a frightened tone.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out, her hands rushing up to cover her mouth as soon as she spoke. Jim's jaw dropped at the words and he struggled to form a coherent sentence, his mouth having gone suddenly dry.

"You're…you're…you're…"

"Pregnant?" she offered again, filling in the blank for him before moving her hands back up to her mouth, waiting anxiously for his reaction.

"You're…_pregnant_," he said slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. "You're pregnant…we're pregnant…oh my gosh, we're pregnant!! Chloe that's wonderful! We're going to have a baby! WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!" he sat up suddenly from his propped-up position on the bed, shouting ecstatically and leaning over to kiss her. His lips had barely grazed hers when he felt dizzy and light-headed again. "Whoa there," he said, gingerly coming to rest back on the pillows. Chloe stood up from her seat and bent over him, concerned. "I'm ok, I just sat up too fast," he muttered, hastening to reassure her.

_At least he didn't faint_ _this time_, she thought before she glanced back over at him and caught the loving look in his eye. The pair studied each other quietly for a moment until Jim shifted over to the far side of the bed patting the space made available beside him. "Come here."

Chloe slid on top of the covers and settled herself on her side beside her husband, watching in amazement as he took his hand and placed it over her toned and still flat stomach. "Hi there Little Guy! Or girl, I meant to say Little Guy or Girl!" he said in a voice usually reserved for speaking to Haley Kent. "Daddy doesn't care what you are so long as you're healthy! He loves you already!"

"So you're ok with this then?" she asked hesitantly, placing her hand over his on her abdomen.

"Chloe, why wouldn't I be?! This is what we've been trying for these last few months, and now…"

"But you _fainted_ back at the museum when I first told you! That's not exactly a reassuring sign!"

He balked. "That doesn't mean I don't _want_ to be a dad, all that means is that I was shocked, that's all."

"Are you sure that's the only thing? You don't have any misgivings about us becoming parents or anything?" she asked quietly, arching a delicate eyebrow at him as she subconsciously voiced some of her fears.

"No, not at all, I'm thrilled! It's just that along with that initial thrill came the realization that certain things about our lives are going to have to change; for instance, we're going to have to start _really_ counting our pennies now so we can save for a college fund. Oh, and we'll also have to start looking for a bigger place, which means moving, and moving entails hiring a van and boxing up all our stuff—namely your books—and lugging them all around town _all over_ _again_…" His face softened as he watched the pleased expression spread across her face as he embraced their news, sounding more like his jovial self. "You know I love you, but I wish you'd become a chiropractor instead of a journalist; your books are killing my back," he teased.

She leaned over and whispered huskily in his ear, "Say it again."

"I wish you'd become a…" he said, jokingly.

"No, the—"

He cut her off abruptly. "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I…"

She had to press her mouth to his to forcibly stop him.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**May 10, 2010. **Jim made sure he got into the office early the following Monday morning and stood outside the bullpen with at least six boxes of chocolate cigars, passing them out to anyone and everyone that passed, informing them that he was about to become a father with the biggest, most infectious smile plastered on his face.

His colleagues thought he'd gone off his rocker.

* * *

Perry arrived at the _Daily Planet_ building later than was his custom, and he rode up in an elevator with Lois and Clark, who were already in a heated discussion about how to tackle their latest assignment.

"I think we need to talk to the Medical Examiner again to make sure that those four deaths are in fact related; we should also see if he's been able come up with anything lethal that's been added to this heroin that the victims are all alleged to have used, if that's what it is at all," Clark posited, playing it on the safe side.

He neglected to take into account that his wife just didn't do safe. "Clark, are you kidding me?! 'Alleged' drug use? Just because two of the victims were a young couple from suburbia and one was a high-end, retail fashion designer does NOT mean that they weren't drug addicts! We need to talk to their family, friends and neighbors, see if they know who their suppliers were, find a common thread…"

"Lois, these people are grieving for their loved ones! Now's _not_ the time to go in there with guns blazing and nothing but accusations and allegations to back us up! They won't talk to us if we approach the situation like that! And don't talk to me like you still think I'm a hick from the sticks; I know that addicts come from all walks of life," he added, giving her a knowing look. As Clark Kent he'd seen a handful of drug addicts, but as Superman he'd seen and rescued thousands.

The Chief gave a small cough from behind them, reminding Lois and Clark of his presence, then stepped forward towards the door as they neared the bullpen floor. "He's right, Lois. Talk to Dr. Pelzer first to see what conclusions you can draw from the autopsies, _then_ go to the families if you need to…but not until you have _proof _that the heroin is behind the deaths." The doors parted before more could be said, and all three strode onto the bullpen floor only to be greeted by Jimmy waving plastic-wrapped, chocolate cigars in their faces.

"What the devil is this all about, Olsen?" the Chief barked, inspecting one of the cigars curiously before realizing it was made of sugar and not his preferred brand of tobacco.

"I'm going to be a FATHER, isn't that great??" Clark and Lois dropped their earlier argument and smiled at one another knowingly, accepting the candies with matching, wide grins on their faces.

Perry's jaw dropped in shock. "Well that's wonderful news, Son, wonderful news!!" He looked down again at the treat in his hands. "But aren't you supposed to be handing these out _after_ the kid is born?"

"Don't worry, I bought two whole cases from a local candy store, so you get some now AND in early December. Chloe said her due date was around December 1st…" The proud father-to-be beamed as he continued handing out cigars to the stragglers coming in.

"Well congratulations again, Jim, that's terrific news! Now if you need anything just…"

"Actually Chief," he cut his boss off rather impertinently. "I was wondering if I could take a few hours off this afternoon to look at some new apartments with my wife. We're going to need a bigger place and all the ones in the best school districts tend to move pretty fast…"

Perry stared at him a moment seemingly in shock before interrupting the excited young man. "I was _going_ to say that if you needed anything just ask the Kents here; they've been through this twice now and seem to know the drill." He stalked off toward his office to prep for the morning staff meeting.

"Oh…" Jim said quietly before turning and shouting after Perry. "Sorry about that Chief!"

* * *

Clark clasped a large hand on his friend's shoulder, reclaiming his attention. "Congratulations, Jim; I found out on Friday about your good news. Speaking of Friday, how's your head? Chloe mentioned something about you fainting at the museum?"

Jim reached up and touched the small lump on the back of his skull and winced at the tender spot while his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "Yeah, um, let's just say I got a little excited the first time she told me…"

"So, exactly how many times did she have to tell you?" Lois hastened to ask, not having heard this part of the story before.

"Ummmm, twice. When I came to in the hospital, I'd kind of forgotten everything she'd told me earlier and she had to tell me all over again; but I didn't faint the second time…I just got a little light-headed from sitting up too fast," he informed them, muttering the last part in a barely audible tone.

Lois undid the wrapping on the chocolate cigar and stuck it in the corner of her mouth, mimicking their Editor-in-Chief as she spoke. "Well don't worry about it, Olsen." Then, jerking her thumb over at her husband, she added, "This one here was so excited when we suspected we were having Haley that he couldn't decide whether to sit, stand or pace the floorboards waiting for the results, and then when they came he forgot to ask what they were, he'd gotten so carried away with the idea of becoming a dad again…" her voice trailed off as her husband gave her an impertinent tap on the nose.

"Enough of that mini-Perry," he exclaimed, grinning madly. "She's right though, the day we found out about Haley was one of the happiest of my life. Congratulations again, Jim, and like the Chief said; if either you or Chloe have any questions or anything, feel free to ask us, we're only too happy to help."

"Thanks guys!" Jim said, wrapping his arms around them both in a group hug. Gil stepped out of the elevator just then and rushed off toward his desk. The young photographer snatched up a half-empty box of the chocolate treats and darted off after his hapless co-worker. "Hey Gil, did you hear the good news?! I'm going to become a father!!"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**May 10, 2010. **Chloe and Jim re-entered their apartment that evening and collapsed in a heap on the sofa, both sticking their feet up on the coffee table and groaning loudly.

"Why is it so damn hard to find a decent two bedroom apartment in this City?! They're all either run-down, or run by crazy people, or in the bad school districts…"

"Honey," Jim said soothingly, reaching out and stroking her arm. "It'll be alright, just calm down, we'll find a place in time…" Their land line rang out from its stand on the table behind their heads, and Chloe reached her arm up to grab it. A quick look at the Caller ID and she handed it off to her husband as if the telephone had suddenly morphed into a hot potato.

"It's your mother."

He looked over at her curiously. "Why don't you want to talk to my mother?" he asked as the phone continued to ring insistently.

"Because A, she still hasn't forgiven me for 'forcing' you to elope, no matter how many times we tell her it was _our_ decision and B, the minute she finds out about this baby she's going to want to move from Jenny's straight into our apartment. Are you really ready for that especially since we don't have a two bedroom?"

Jim glanced down at the phone as it shrilled again, as if heralding his mother on the other end of the line. "Nooooo…but maybe we'll get lucky and she'll decide to stay in Mayfield since it's so close to Jenny's due date?" he offered, not really believing it himself. His wife arched a perfectly formed eyebrow and stared at him pointedly. The father-to-be threw up his hands in frustration. "We have to tell her _SOMETIME_, Chloe!!" he said accusatorially. "Your father is only going to hold out on her for so long, they talk practically every other day…"

"Alright, alright, answer the phone!" she replied resignedly. Chloe quickly decided to get the heck out of Dodge and moved off the sofa toward the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes.

"Coward!" he whispered after her just as he hit the TALK button. "Hi Mom!"

"James, it's about time you answered your phone! We were going to hang up and head out if you didn't pick up soon…"

"We?" he asked hesitantly, already disliking this conversation.

"Yes; Jenny and I were going to pick up a few more things for the baby, and we're just waiting for Josh to fix the leaky faucet…"

"What leaky faucet?" He stalled for time.

Cheryl sighed in exasperation on the other end of the line. "What leaky faucet, really James! The one in the kitchen, it's been on the fritz for the last two weeks now!"

"Mom, Chloe and I haven't been to the house since Thanksgiving; how did you expect me to know that the kitchen faucet was leaking?!" He eyed Chloe as she strolled back into the room in a red t-shirt and tan shorts. She paused before her husband, mouthing the question 'Did you tell her?' while trying to get his attention. Jim shook his head and tuned back into the conversation as she settled back down on the opposite end of the couch, her back against the arm rest, watching him.

* * *

That outburst just launched his mother's argument in a whole new direction. "Well you would know if you called home more often, but you and Chloe are both so busy at work, you never have time to call me, or talk to your sister and ask her about the baby…"

"Actually, Jim called me last week to see how I was doing," Jen interjected from her seat at the kitchen table, a hand placed over her protruding belly.

"Jennifer you are _not_ helping," her mother turned her mouth away from the phone and hissed.

Josh stuck his head out from under the sink and wiped his brow. "Yeah, _Jennifer_, you're not helping," he mimicked. His sister kicked him in the leg with her foot and he went back to his work.

"Will you put the phone on speaker, Mom?" her son in Metropolis asked apprehensively.

"On speaker? What's that?"

Jen snatched the phone out of her mother's hand. "Here Mom, I got it, I know what he's talking about. Go ahead Jim, you're on speaker."

"Thanks. Josh, you there?"

Giving a final tweak of the wrench, his younger brother slid out from underneath the sink and sat up on the kitchen floor in Connecticut. "Yeah Bro, I'm here. What's going on and why all the drama?"

* * *

Jim sighed and sat up on the sofa, physically bracing himself. "Chloe and I have some news…"

"Oh my God, you're moving out of Metropolis and finally buying a house! Oh thank goodness, it's high time you think about settling down more, the City is much too dangerous…I've always said so, and even with Superman around I've always thought so. I was always just so glad that you didn't move to Gotham…"

"Cheryl, hi, it's Chloe." Jim held the phone out between the two of them on the sofa, putting it on speaker in the midst of his mother's rant. She glowered at her husband as he did so, before forcing herself to adopt a more cheerful tone. "We're not moving. Well, not out of the City, anyway."

"But you _are_ moving?" Jen proffered.

"We kind of need to…there's no room for a baby in the apartment we have now."

An explosion of noise assaulted Chloe and Jim's ears from the other end of the phone. Cheryl was screaming with delight, while Jen gushed about how close the two cousins would be in age and Josh kept muttering, "I can't believe it, I just can't believe it…I guess when it rains it pours…"

Finally, one distinct voice rose above the din. "I think I have enough personal time that I can let Gary know tomorrow and catch a train down to Metropolis right after my shift…" Jim's mother thought aloud.

"NO!" Chloe and Jim cried out loudly as one. He hastened to add, "Josh, I want you to forcibly restrain her if she even thinks about going near the train station!" Jen could be heard cackling loudly in the background.

"Turnabout is fair play, Brother; turnabout is fair play."

It took another twenty-five minutes, to convince Cheryl Olsen NOT to hop on a train the next day to pay her son and daughter-in-law an extended visit.


	43. Chapter 43

_**East Side Slums**_**, "??". **Kirk had spent the majority of the day lazing about his apartment in a pair of ratty tan shorts and a dingy, moth-eaten t-shirt, conducting a handful of deals with the few people brave enough to face the heat and stop by. However, the skyrocketing temperatures suffocated him in the small space and at four-thirty he threw on a pair of dog-earred sneakers before hustling down the front steps of his building and around the block to the local fast food joint for a bite to eat and a change of scenery.

"Welcome to McDougall's, may I take your order?" the dour-looking, acne scarred teenager behind the register asked. Kirk pulled some coins and a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket and started counting through them.

"Yeah, uh…" The people behind him shuffled their feet in annoyance as the sweat-drenched man before them made his decision. "I'll have a number 7 with extra pickles and a large soda." The grumpy teen rang up the order and watched as Kirk slid the exact amount of change across the counter in exchange for his receipt.

"NEXT!"

Five minutes later the unkempt twenty-something walked out of McDougall's with half of a double cheese burger clenched in one fist, while the bag of fries and extra-tall soda were held precariously in the other. He struggled to keep the flimsy cup upright as he ate and walked down the block, attempting to maintain as low a profile as possible per Uncle's instructions…_Still, it is Friday night,_ he mused as he caught sight of the overhanging sign just three doors down from where he stood. _Nothing says I can't mix a little pleasure with business._

He entered the package store and emerged ten minutes later with a large bottle of whiskey in a brown paper sack in his right hand, the burger having joined the fries in the other bag. A quick look at his watch informed him of the time and he shuffled back to the apartment for another 'appointment'.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**June 4, 2010. **"This lawyer's death makes it fifteen so far, right Clark?" Lois called out across the aisle to her husband as she reviewed her messy notes. Maurice Jurman was the latest member of Metropolis society to fall victim to the spiked heroin that was seeping its way out into the City. Men and women from all over, many of whom would be the last to be suspected of recreational drug use, had been dropping like flies for the past month despite warnings issued by the media and the police.

He answered her in a distracted tone without looking up from his computer. "Yes, Jurman's death makes fifteen total."

She stopped in her work and turned to take in his visage. Clark was poring over Dr. Pelzer's results; the medical examiner had developed a spiraling 3-D image of the heroin compound's composition. "What's got you so bothered?" she asked, standing up and sidling over to stand behind him.

"Based off the samples the authorities have retrieved from the victims' homes, we know that the heroin is all from the same batch. Now this right here is a file that Dr. Pelzer sent me. It's the standard structure of diacetylmorphine hydrochloride, a hydrochloride salt," he said, pointing to the object on-screen while glancing over his shoulder at his wife. Lois stared back at him, perplexed. "That's the white crystalline form of heroin that's used 'recreationally'." Clark shook his head as he spoke, unable to comprehend how people could use such lethal and illegal drugs 'recreationally', putting their lives at risk in the process. Lois squeezed his shoulder, sensing his discomfort while urging him on with his explanation. "But this component right here is the X-factor; it's an unknown substance that's never been registered before, anywhere. The only thing we know for sure is that it's lethal—" he added the last part almost as an afterthought, "—to humans."

Lois stared at the back of his head with wide hazel eyes. "You're not proposing what I think you're proposing…"

"What? What exactly do you think I'm proposing?" He spun around again in his desk chair to study her features more carefully.

"You're not considering testing this on yourself, right? Because you're, you know…you?"

"GOOD GOD NO, why would you even _**think**_ that?!" The entire bullpen turned at the outburst from their usually mild-mannered colleague as Lois let loose the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. He continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "I value my life too much to even consider that! What I was hinting at was that the substance may be _foreign_ in nature."

She cocked an eyebrow at his implied meaning. "You mean alien in nature?"

"It's possible, yes. Look at it this way, Lois: if pieces of Kryptonite followed me to Earth when I landed here, who's to say that other bits of unknown space debris haven't done the same, now or in the past? Whatever it may be could have then gotten into the soil, mixed with the poppies grown in the Middle East or Africa or somewhere, and then you have your…"

"Your super-lethal heroin, I see." She mulled the conclusion over as Jim walked towards Clark's desk.

"Hey guys, I wanted to see if you had any leads on any two bedroom apartments nearby…Chloe and I just aren't having any luck and we were hoping to get settled into a new place before the end of her second trimester," he said, semi-resignedly. They had been holding off on buying the bulk of the needed baby things until they moved and had the space for it, but time was of the essence.

Clark brushed the hair out of his face and turned toward his friend. "Sorry…we had a line on a three bedroom about eight blocks away from us, but nothing else." He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I'm sorry we couldn't be of more help, Jim, but we'll keep our eyes and ears peeled, promise."

"Well, thanks anyway guys…say, how's the heroin story going? I heard they found another body, is that true?"

"Actually, we were just looking at the composition of the…" but Clark was unceremoniously interrupted by the Chief bellowing from his office.

"Sherach! Olsen! I need you to get down to the courthouse now! They're about to announce the verdict in the Douglass Brothers' trial, so get going! I want photos and a story worthy of the front page and the _Daily Planet _banner, you got that?!" But both men were too busy hastening towards the elevator with their gear in tow to properly answer him. "Now _that's_ the kind of hustle I want to see in all of you every day! Those two know how to afford their Editor-in-Chief the proper respect he deserves!" he uttered before returning to his office as the rest of the bullpen scrambled to get back to work, lest they fall from his good graces.

* * *

Some twenty minutes later, Lois and Clark were still in discussion over their article when he had to excuse himself to use the restroom. He'd just disappeared around the corner down the hall when Chloe sauntered in, wearing black work-out pants and an oversized t-shirt, her purse casually slung over her shoulder.

"Hey you, what brings you by on this fine day, and so impeccably dressed too?" Lois teased as she caught sight of her friend.

"I called in fat to work today," Chloe replied jokingly, taking the seat that Clark had vacated only a moment before. "I can't fit into any of my clothes, it's ridiculous. I thought I'd have at least another full month before I started showing, but I guess not. I'm on my way to do some maternity shopping and I thought I'd stop in and see what advice you could give me." She glanced across the aisle at Clark's empty desk and saw the _Daily Planet_ globe screensaver bounce across the screen. "Hey, where're Jim and Clark?"

"Your husband was sent off to the courthouse on assignment and mine just went to use the facilities before you walked in; sometimes I wonder if people around here think he has a small bladder, the number of times he runs in and out all day, half the time claiming he has to use the men's room. Anyhow, more on point, you are far from fat, Chloe Olsen! You're pregnant, glowing and beautiful; although it is unusual that you'd need maternity clothes already…" Lois trailed off in mid-thought as she caught sight of her husband standing in the middle of the aisle, eyes closed and his head slightly cocked to one side in his classic 'listening' pose. Curious and slightly worried as he continued to stand there as still as a statue, she turned her entire focus on him while Chloe followed suit.

Clark had first heard the heartbeat of his friends' child almost a month before and all sounded well. Today however, there was something off and the heartbeat had a strange cadence to it; instead of the typical _lub-dub_ rhythm it had three weeks ago, it sounded more like _lub-dub-di-dub_. His clear blue eyes snapped open and he focused intently on his best friend's abdomen, trying to restrain himself from using x-ray vision. All of the possible birth defects and problems he'd read about when Lois was pregnant with Haley suddenly rushed to the forefront of his mind: heart murmur, congenital heart defect, undeveloped valves, pre-eclampsia, and he felt a cold knot of fear twist deep in his belly. Faster than he should have moved in a room full of journalists, Clark rushed to their side and knelt down to whisper into Chloe's ear, "We need to get you to the ER, there's something off about the baby's heartbeat."

All color drained from the mother-to-be's once beaming face and she nodded slowly, standing up tentatively and letting Clark guide her toward the stairwell where they could make a swift exit unseen. Lois snatched up her purse and car keys, signaling that she'd meet them at the hospital. Once they entered the stairway, the superhero let go of his friend for the briefest of moments as he spun into his multi-colored suit, then he gingerly gathered her into his arms and sped off for the nearest emergency room as fast as he dared. Neither spoke a word as they soared over the city, with Chloe worriedly clasping a hand over her stomach while trying to maintain as calm a demeanor as possible to keep from distressing her baby further. Clark touched down just beside the entrance. "We need a doctor here!"

One of the nurses rushed toward them from behind the sign-in station, bringing a wheelchair over as she did so to relieve him of his supposed burden. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked worriedly, noting the pale visage of the woman placed into the chair in front of her.

"I picked this woman up from a speeding taxi—they were on their way here—and when I arrived on the scene I noticed that there was something off about her child's heartbeat."

"Alright, Superman, we'll take it from here," the nurse said, dismissing him curtly and escorting Chloe into a wheelchair and moving her into the middle of the waiting room. "And don't worry, Miss, you're going to be fine." The young mother-to-be turned back around in time to see her cape-clad friend disappear out the front door, but she knew he wouldn't leave her alone long. The nurse returned with a clipboard full of paperwork just as Clark walked in wearing his signature, ill-fitting, brown suit.

"I'll page the OB/GYN while you fill out these forms…it shouldn't take more than ten minutes." Chloe nodded absentmindedly while staring up at Clark who hovered around her protectively. As soon as the nurse was gone he wheeled her over to a semi-secluded spot in the back corner of the room, away from any possibly contagious patients. Clark sat in a stiff backed maroon chair opposite her and fidgeted nervously while his friend struggled to write out her name, her hands were trembling so badly.

"Can you still hear the baby?" she whispered, eyes darting up to meet his while her head stayed bent over her paperwork. He stared straight over at her and saw the immense terror lurking behind the green orbs that she was struggling to keep in check.

His eyelids fluttered close behind his clunky glasses as he concentrated on pushing out all the ambient noise and focusing once again on her child's heartbeat. _Lub-dub-di-dub, lub-dub-di-dub, lub-dub-di-dub_…"Yes, I can still hear it. There's an extra flourish after the normal heartbeat that I haven't heard before, that's why I'm concerned. I'm sure it's nothing, but…" he trailed off uncomfortably as he watched her mentally fill in the blanks.. "You need to get the doctor to do an ultrasound, whatever you do, and ask him to check the baby's heart."

She nodded in understanding, two silent tears streaming down her face as she filled out her insurance information. _At least he can hear the baby, that's a good sign…Jim and I can face whatever may come but at least our child is still alive…_Clark placed a reassuring hand on her knee and proffered his clean handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully and used to dab at her damp eyes.

The same nurse that had ushered them in came over to collect Chloe a few moments later. "The doctor can see you now, Ma'am. We'll finish up that paperwork afterward." The woman began to wheel her patient away, leaving Clark behind in the waiting room, when Chloe stopped her.

"I want my friend to come with me."

"Ma'am it's generally against hospital policy to have a non-family member accompany you into the exam room."

Chloe shot the woman a fierce look. "He's my brother in every way except blood and I want him to come with me otherwise the doctor can examine me out here, is that clear?" she announced coldly.

"Yes," the nurse replied meekly, before turning back and motioning for Clark to follow. He held onto Chloe's hand as they were wheeled into an exam room near the back of the bustling ER; for all her bravado, he knew his friend was absolutely petrified.

Fifteen minutes later, the doctor strode into the room in a white lab coat glancing at her chart. He glanced up from the clipboard to find Chloe waiting on the table in a blue hospital gown over her black pants and Clark standing tall beside her, still clutching her hand, a forced, small smile on his face. Flipping through her paperwork again, the doctor turned to her and flashed her a comforting smile. "I'm Dr. Silverstein, and I understand that you were brought in by Superman—now that's quite exciting, isn't it?"

"Doctor, I don't see how that's relev—…" Clark began indignantly and out of character until the older man before him raised a hand.

"Now why don't we see about this business of the extra heart flourish our resident superhero heard, shall we? Ok, I'm just going to bring this gown up a bit…fair warning but this is going to be a little cold…" he said as he urged her to lie back on the table so he could squeeze the gel on her stomach and begin the sonogram. With a flick of the switch the equipment began quietly humming and the doctor picked up the transducer.

"Oooh, it is chilly," she said, shivering more from fear than from the cold as she waited on pins and needles for the examination to begin. Clark sat on a low stool beside her, still holding her hand, and he rubbed her shoulder supportively.

"Ok, well let's just take a little look-see, here…uh huh…uh huh…hmmm…" Dr. Silverstein continued his one-sided conversation of hems and haws as Clark and Chloe both held their breaths, watching him move the transducer back and forth across her abdomen and waiting for the image to form on-screen. All the two friends could make out were grainy black and white blobs wiggling across the monitor; the doctor frowned slightly as he very intently studied the image, then broke into a wide grin.

"Mrs. Olsen, in spite of your earlier excitement I'm happy to say that Superman's ears were deceiving him; both of your babies look very healthy and none the worse for wear. Whatever he heard may have sounded anomalous to him, but I assure you it is perfectly normal for a woman in your condition."

Chloe laid her head back and stared up at the ceiling tiles, letting loose a relieved sigh that for once, her super-charged friend's ears had deceived him; what she didn't realize was that Clark's ears _hadn't_ malfunctioned—he'd simply heard everything out of context.

He alone caught the doctor's words and stared at the man in shock. "I'm s-sorry, but did you just say _babies_?" he asked in an unintentionally high pitch. Clark's voice brought Chloe's attention back to the other occupants of the room.

"_Yes_…" Doctor Silverstein replied slowly, furrowing his brows in confusion. "You did know that you were having twins, right Mrs. Olsen?"

"WHAT?!" she screamed, squeezing Clark's hand tightly and bolting right up off the table, she sat up so fast.

"I take it by your reaction that this is new news then. Well I suppose congratulations are in order…"

"I thought twins were supposed to skip a generation?!" she cried out worriedly.

"That is how it usually goes, but that's not always the case—especially if the family has a history of fraternal twins."

"Well then that explains it…" The doctor stared at her, mystified. "My husband's youngest siblings are fraternal twins," she said by way of explanation. "Oh Dear God, how am I even going to begin to tell Jim?!"

The doctor looked into Clark's face in confusion. "Jim?"

"My husband," Chloe answered him quickly. "He fainted the first time I told him I was pregnant, and he almost fainted the second time too. I can only imagine what his reaction will be this time."

"I see…" Dr. Silverstein replied, biting his lower lip in thought. "I'm honestly a bit surprised that your regular doctor didn't discover this before now. When was your last appointment again?" He began flipping through the charts to try and find an answer.

"About three weeks ago, why?"

"Hmmm…well they should have been able to catch the twin pregnancy then, but one of the babies may have been shadowing the other, in which case the second baby wouldn't have necessarily been picked up on the monitor. Very interesting…" He gently urged Chloe to lie back down on the table and pointed to the screen once more, holding the transducer above her protruding belly button. "Now see here? You can clearly see the head of Baby A, and over here is the head of Baby B." All three stared at the squirming blob-like images for a while longer before the kindly doctor chimed in again, "Would you like a picture?"

Chloe kept looking ahead at the images of her children, knowing now that they were both out of danger, and her eyes brimmed over with happy tears. It was all she could do to nod her head in consent as the doctor pushed the print button.

Clark quietly rose up from his seat, not wanting to disturb her as he slipped her hand out from his grip, and made a slight move toward the door. "I'm going to go into the waiting room to see if Lois and I can't get a hold of Jim for you, ok?"

"Uh huh," she replied absently, nodding her head and biting her lower lip while smiling. "Twins…" he heard her whisper in awe as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

It had taken a super-human effort to settle Lois down once he'd given her the news; he did not want to create a scene and disrupt the other patients in the waiting room so he left Lois by herself in a chair while he stepped outside to contact Jim. The man in question was standing on the steps of the courthouse with Gil, tuning out the DA while waiting to catch a glimpse of the Douglass Brothers so he could snap a front page-worthy photo as they were carted away. His cell phone chirped from the carrier on his belt and he whipped it out, glad for the distraction from the politico's droning.

"James Olsen," he announced cheerily.

"Hey Jim, it's Clark…"

"Oh hey Buddy, listen, can I call you back? They just said the Douglass Brothers were going to be brought out any minute…"

Clark cut him off. "Jim, I'm in the ER at Met. General with Chloe and…"

The young photographer's face went ashen. "Chloe's in the ER?! Tell her I'm on my way!" He snapped the phone shut and forced his way out of the circle of journalists and photographers and took off, sprinting the entire eight blocks toward Metropolis General; the camera around his neck flapped against his chest the whole way. No sooner had his foot hit the sidewalk, then the courthouse doors opened and a dozen bulbs flashed as the Douglass Brothers were led down the steps.

Gil had remained oblivious to all that transpired; he didn't even realize his colleague was missing until he went to hail a cab back to the _Daily Planet_ some thirty minutes later and discovered that Jim was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Jim burst through the ER's automatic doors twenty-five minutes after receiving the phone call from his friend. He was red-faced, sweaty and out of breath, as his eyes darted around the non-descript room full of people in varying stages of health, looking for his friends. He spotted Lois and Clark huddled in conference in the corner. Jim rushed to Clark's side and grabbed a hold of his shoulder.

"Where…where's my…my wife…" he panted, almost doubled over in the middle of the doorway as he sucked in huge gulps of air.

"Come on, I'll take you to her," Clark urged, motioning him forward toward the nurses' station so they could gain admittance to Chloe's exam room. There was no need, however, as Nurse Ada was wheeling her back out again.

"Chloe! Are you…ok? I got the…call from…CK…and I came…running…" he said, abandoning his friend and leaning over to better look at her. "Literally."

"I'm fine, really I'm fine. You might want to sit down though, I have some news…"

"Just tell me; whatever it is, I can take it," he urged her, finally catching his breath as he squeezed her hand in support.

"The baby is fine—they both are, in fact. Jim, we're having twins!"

"They? Twins?" he exclaimed distractedly. "Twins?!" All of the excitement from the last half hour finally caught up to Jim and he went slack beside her. Clark caught him before he hit the ground as Lois and Chloe simultaneously cried out in alarm. The mother-to-be rose up from her wheelchair once she saw that Jim was safe in her best friend's grasp, and she offered up the seat for her unconscious husband's use.

"I take it this is your husband here?" Dr. Silverstein asked as he came out into the waiting room with a prescription for some new pre-natal vitamins. She nodded as she stood beside Jim, shaking his arm and trying to rouse him back into wakefulness. "I see what you mean about the fainting."

"At least he didn't bang his head this time," Lois added with a chuckle.

Chloe smirked as she looked over at her friends and the doctor. "Since this appears to be a recurring pattern, I should probably start shopping around for a back-up Lamaze coach, huh?"


	44. Chapter 44

_**East Side Slums, **_**"???". **At least a third of the bottle was gone when a loud rapping noise roused Kirk out of his slumber. Lazily, he got up from the thin twin mattress and stretched before shuffling towards the door in nothing save his boxers.

"Kirk! Yo Kirk, dude, it's Freeze, open up!" his visitor hollered as he pounded away on the derelict doorframe.

The apartment's intoxicated occupant threw the door open and welcomed the hooded man into the apartment with a lopsided smile. "Hey man, sorry bout that…"

"I've come to collect for Uncle," Shane announced coolly, slipping past. "He wants half your take."

"Half?" Kirk repeated to assure himself that he'd heard correctly. The two stumbled down the hall in the semi-darkness until they reached the kitchen.

"Yep, half." Freeze eyed his surroundings with contempt; not because his place was any better, but because the apartment and everything in it was given to the drunken lout before him in exchange for nothing but his silence. _What a friggin' waste…_

"You want some fries?" the dealer asked suddenly, wheeling about with half a bag of cold McDougall's fries outstretched in his hand.

"No."

Kirk shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself." He dumped the remnants of his meal out in the trash and strolled into the bedroom, leaving Shane behind by the kitchen table. Carefully opening up the closet door, he dropped down to his knees and sifted through the drawers of what appeared to be a child-sized dresser. Sliding open the bottom drawer, Kirk carefully peeled out several 10, 20, 50, and 100 dollar bills, counting them three times to be sure he had the right amount. He dropped it into the now-empty McDougall's bag and re-entered the kitchen.

Shane raised an eyebrow at him as he took the greasy bag. "Is it all there?"

"OF COURSE IT'S ALL THERE! You think I'd try and screw Uncle over, are you OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!? Now get the hell out of here!!!" he shouted, flying towards the young man in an alcohol-fueled rage. But Shane was already down the hall and out the door before Kirk even knew he was gone.

The drug dealer was seething with anger as he dragged his feet back to the bedroom, taking several long swigs of the whiskey bottle until it was nearly half gone. A push of a button brought the TV to life and Kirk set the bottle down on the nightstand beside him before fumbling to light a cigarette. Finally relaxing a bit, he watched the antics of Mandy Patinkin on-screen, boldly declaring "My name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father, prepare to die!", laughing uproariously each time he did so, causing the cigarette to slip out from between his lips.

Several minutes later, Kirk was prone on the bed again, alternating between drags on the cigarette and swigs of his drink while watching one of his favorite childhood movies on TV.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**July 2, 2010. **Once Jim regained consciousness, he and Chloe talked and with the revelation that there were twins on the way they decided to take, sight unseen, the three bedroom apartment on Holmes Avenue that Clark had mentioned earlier.

Providence was on their side once they signed their lease papers. The landlord was friendly with Clark and more than happy to rent the space to his friends; the rent was only slightly higher than what the young couple had been prepared to spend on a two bedroom; the school district was good, as the Kents could attest to, and even the apartment itself was just right for their new needs. There was a large living room that greeted you when you walked in the front door with a decent-sized balcony overlooking the main street, followed by a kitchen with a bar that opened out onto the living room, making it easier to socialize with company when it came time to entertain guests. A closet in the middle of the hallway leading to the bedrooms had hook-ups for a washer and dryer, and then there was the double-sink set-up in the bathroom right across the hall from the two smaller bedrooms and next to the master bedroom, with a linen closet nestled in-between. The apartment had all the space they needed for their growing family and then some and having their living situation all squared away did a great deal toward taking some of the weight off their minds.

In the weeks leading up to the move it seemed to the Olsens that their immediate family members had taken leave of their senses. Ian Sullivan would call his daughter and son-in-law every other day to check in, usually spending ten to fifteen minutes chatting with them, and on days when he wasn't calling them, Cheryl Olsen would. She would want to discuss everything from how much weight Chloe was gaining to what type of names they'd thought up for the twins and whether or not they'd found the right double stroller—in short, they found it impossible to get her off the phone and get any packing done in what little time they had available to them before the move in early July.

The pair of them were sitting down to dinner one Saturday evening in late June—hot dogs with extra sauerkraut, per the twins' request—when Chloe was struck with an idea as to how to help them in their dilemma. "Jim, why don't we ask Justin and Jill to come down and help us move? We could offer to pay them for their time," she asked casually as she reached for her cup of soda. The heat in the City was already stifling and forecasters predicted that it was only going to get hotter as the summer rolled on.

"What? Why? Lois and Clark agreed to come help us, and I'm sure we'll get everything packed in time before the move…we'll just stop answering the telephone, that's all."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Right, and send Cheryl into fits and have her on our doorstep at 11:30 at night wondering what was wrong and why we didn't pick up the phone? Honestly, Sweetie, do you _not_ know your own mother by now?"

"I see your point, but why do you want Jill and Justin to come help us out? Why not hire professional movers instead?" he proffered, taking another bite of his sauerkraut-less dog and trying not to wrinkle his nose. His children may have craved the topping but he couldn't stand the smell of the stuff.

"I'd like to have your brother and sister down for a couple reasons. One, maybe with two little 'spies' in our house, your mother would bother us less and we'd be able to get more work done; two, we hardly ever get to see them between their school schedules and our work schedules, so it'd be nice to get to spend time with them while they're on summer break; three, it'd be a good change of scenery for them and give them a chance to get out of Mayfield for a week; and four, it'd give me an idea of just what the heck we've gotten ourselves into with these little ones." She patted her stomach as she spoke.

Jim mulled the thought over awhile as he plunked another potato chip in his mouth. "Ok…" he replied hesitantly, "I'll call and invite them, but there's no guarantee that they'll come. And as far as watching Jill and Justin 'interact', all I can tell you is to expect the unexpected. One minute those two are thick as thieves, the next they want nothing to do with each other—and little has happened over the last twenty years to change that."

"I'm sure they're not that bad…now would you mind passing me another hot dog and the sauerkraut please?" Jim held his fingers to his nose as he passed the vile garnish over to his wife, who looked at it greedily. She probably would have eaten it straight from the container if she thought it would satisfy her insatiable hunger.

* * *

Justin and Jill arrived on the morning train from Mayfield on July 2nd, and Chloe went to go pick them up from the station while Jim collected the moving van that would haul their belongings across town. Lois and Clark had agreed to take the afternoon off from work and help alongside Jim and his siblings.

The twins saw their sister-in-law waiting for them on the platform as the crowd cleared, her slightly protruding belly protected by the white peasant top and khaki shorts she wore to ward off the summer heat that was threatening to hit triple digits by mid-week. Chloe stood with her arms wide open to receive them, a happy smile on her face.

"Hi guys! How was the trip down?" she asked cheerily, encircling her arms around Jill who was the first to approach.

Jill returned the embrace and took a good look at her brother's wife. "The trip was fine," she replied with a casual wave of her hand. "But look at you! It's like everyone in this family just caught baby-making fever; now if Josh gets a girl pregnant I'll really be in shock!" The leggy blond teenager bent over to examine her sister-in-law's stomach. "And I can't believe there's two of them in there!"

Justin approached just then with a duffle bag slung over each shoulder and leaned into Chloe's hug, side-stepping Jill as he went by. "Look at you, you act like you haven't seen Jenny waddling around everyday for the past month," he scoffed, teasing his sister. "Oh yeah, and I hope for both your sakes that the first one out is the smart one, like in our case here," he added with a sly grin.

"Oh shut up Justin, none of that birth order crap applies to twins and you know it! Besides, you only beat me by a minute and a half, big deal!"

"Ahh, but they are the most important ninety seconds in the history of the universe," he retorted wittily as he led the way down the platform. "And I know a thing or two about history."

Jillian rolled her eyes at her overly-dramatic brother. "You are going to be the _worst _teacher in the history of the world, you know that?! Those poor little kids in your class aren't going to know what hit them!"

Chloe wrapped an arm around her sister-in-law's waist and ushered them both forward to catch up to Justin. "Slow down, Professor Olsen, I'm walking for three here!" she exclaimed laughingly. He hung back accordingly and she wrapped her free arm around his waist as well. "And Jill, your brother is going to be a _great_ teacher, just like you're going to be a _great_ architect. Now come on, I want you two to tell me all about what you've been up to this summer…"

* * *

The boxes in Jim and Chloe's apartment were scattered all around and towered over everyone, creating chaos in what had once been a crowded but well-organized space. Jason, who was wearing a dark blue top and blue jean shorts, darted betweenf the box 'forts' at reasonable speeds, looked like a miniature version of his father's alter ego, while his sister Haley toddled after him in a bright pink sundress that matched the color of her chubby little smiling cheeks. Lois and Clark were standing near the sofa, keeping an eye on their children while arguing over the best way to load up the moving van; the small contingent of movers helping Chloe and Jim only had one day to get everything out of the old apartment, as the new tenants were moving in two days later and the place still needed to be cleaned.

Clark stood in his white t-shirt and jean shorts, yielding to the heat that permeated through Metropolis, trying in vain to get his wife to agree with him. "Lois, we should load up the living room first and the bedroom last, that way the bedroom becomes the first thing we _unload_ at the new place; we don't need to get all of Jim and Chloe's belongings into the new apartment today but we have to get them out of _here_ by tonight; and either way they're going to need someplace to sleep!"

Jim stepped back into the room with a box of clothes in arms, watching them verbally spar with one another. "I'm not fighting you about the bedroom, Clark!" Lois exclaimed, shaking her arms as she spoke. She wore a red Metropolis Meteors jersey and cargo shorts with her hair pulled back in a ponytail; it made her look ten years younger, and took off a lot of the Mad Dog Lane-Kent edge that she carried around at work, but her voice now served only to reaffirm her tough-as-nails reputation. "That makes perfect sense, but it's the _rest_ of the apartment that you've got all backward! You need to load the kitchen stuff up in the _back_ of the van, then the living room, then the bathroom and finally the bedroom." Jim backed out of the living room quietly to retrieve still _more_ boxes from the bedroom, allowing the Kents time to work this problem out amongst themselves.

"Sweetheart, I know your cooking's gotten better over the years and that you don't hate it as much as you did, but not _everyone_ has that same aversion to the kitchen. We've got to put the kitchen stuff in with the…" the sound of shifting boxes and sliding cardboard caught their attention, and they instinctively turned to find their children. Jason had caught a box of Chloe's books in his outstretched right hand just as it had threatened to topple onto Haley's head. He looked somewhat startled by the suddenness of his reaction, but the forty-plus pound box presented little effort for him to hold up. Thankful that Jim was in the other room, Clark began to make his way to his children when Haley's next three words stopped him dead in his tracks. Lois' sharp intake of breath told Clark that she'd heard as well.

"Dada no catch?" she asked, turning her wide blue eyes from her brother to her father and mother questioningly. The little girl had been speaking incoherently for several months; her vocabulary consisted mostly of the usual Mama, Dada, Hayee, Jay-Jay and No, while the rest was just unintelligible babble. This was her first full statement.

In a blur, Clark was on his knees next to his children, relieving Jason of his burden and scooping both children up in his strong arms, the blue eyes behind his glasses going misty. "Great catch, Son," he whispered to the boy as he held him close, causing the boy to smile from ear-to-ear. Next Clark turned to Haley, giving her a hug and replying, "That's right, Haley, Dada no catch. Jay-Jay catch." Lois shook herself free of her shock and strode over to her family, taking Haley from her father's arms so he could stand and began peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses. "I can't believe I got to hear her say her first full sentence…"

"And I'm so glad you got to hear it too," Lois replied in the same awed tone as her husband. She stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek just as Chloe walked in the door with Justin and Jill in tow.

"Hey guys!" she called out dropping the keys on the small table by the door as she entered. "I wasn't expecting to see you here so soon! And the kids too, hi you guys! Are you going to help us out today?"

"Uh huh," the boy replied proudly, smiling and nodding his head while hanging out in Clark's grip.

"Perry let us out early," Lois announced, explaining away their earlier-than-anticipated arrival. "Partly because he was feeling generous, partly because of the heat and partly because he knew we were running ourselves ragged with this heroin story and we just needed to get out and clear our heads."

"Oh yeah, what's going on with that? I heard you were able to track the source to somewhere in the Slums, although how that's going to help you I'm sure I don't know…"

* * *

Jim re-entered the room at that moment and caught sight of his two siblings standing off behind Chloe as she and Lois discussed the Kents' most recent investigation. "Hey you guys! Come here you knuckleheads!" he chuckled, throwing his arms open for his brother and sister. Jill didn't hesitate to rush into her older brother's embrace while Justin ambled behind, opting instead to give Jim a 'manly hug'. "I'd like you to meet our friends: this is Clark Kent, that's his wife Lois, and their children Jason and Haley. CK, these are the other twins, Jill and Justin, my brother and sister. I can't remember if you all met at the reception or not."

Justin stuck his hand out to Clark. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

The men shook just as Jill cried out, "Oh my God, we're going to be the _other_ twins! Justin, do you know what this means? We might actually get our own identities for a change!"

"It's nice to meet you too, Justin, Jill, and please, call me Clark. Calling me Sir reminds me too much of my f-father-in-law…"

"He's a General," Jim added for his brother's clarification. Then turning back to his sister, he said, "And what do you mean, have your own identities? You've always had your own identities!"

"_Jimmy_," she said exasperatedly. "Even you just introduced us like we were a pre-packaged deal. It's always been 'the twins this' or 'the twins that'. You, Mom, Josh and Jenny never could just say 'and this is Justin and Jill'…"

"What are you whining about?" Justin asked, confronting her as Lois and Chloe turned their attention on the bickering twenty year olds. "You make it sound like you're ashamed to be attached to me!"

"Well maybe I am, you big gangly geek!" she added sarcastically, placing a hand on her hip and raising a slender, blonde eyebrow at him.

Jim sidled over to his wife as his siblings continued to verbally spar, while Lois and Clark looked on, impressed as the rapidity of the teenagers' banter rivaled their own. Jason and Haley simply stared at one another, blinking in confusion; sibling rivalry had yet to rear its ugly head in their household, given their disparate ages.

"Do they always squabble like this?" Chloe asked her husband quietly, a hand cupped over her mouth.

He nodded his head vigorously. "And you can't say I didn't warn you, because I did. One other thing before I forget; we're never to introduce our children to anyone as 'the twins', ever. Got it?"

Chloe looked up at Jim's face, then over at his teenaged siblings duking it out in the middle of the box-strewn living room, and back to him before nodding her head in mute agreement.

* * *

It took a total of eight hours to get Chloe and Jim all moved out of their old apartment and partially into their new one, but it felt like longer, what with the heat and because everyone in the group forbade Chloe from practically lifting a finger. Even Jason kept an eye on her to make sure she didn't lift anything too heavy, including lifting his baby sister up on her hip.

The following day, the Olsen clan managed to unload the vehicle in it's entirety, as the Kents were off celebrating the Fourth of July holiday outside of the City, and the once spacious, new apartment looked as though a wrecking crew had come barreling through. Every room was in disarray, with boxes standing half un-packed and the floor littered with crumpled bits of newspaper packing, while the trash bags overflowed with take-out containers and broken up bits of cardboard.

As if the process of unpacking weren't enough, the week with the twins wasn't without its challenges either. The visit certainly went far toward giving Chloe a glimpse of what life _might_ be like for her, Jim, and their children once they reached adolescence. For one thing, the twins' temperaments couldn't have been more different; Justin was subdued, polite and studious; while he wasn't a complete introvert, he wasn't the extrovert that his sister was either. Jill was fun, flirtatious and much more care-free then her seconds-older older brother. The two seemed to be at odds over everything and at all hours of the day and night. They argued over who took the sleeper sofa and who got the air mattress in one of the extra bedrooms (causing Jim to invest in a second air mattress on the third afternoon of their stay just to settle the squabbling), who got into the bathroom first for a shower, what sights to see in Metropolis during the day while their brother and sister-in-law were at work and what clubs to frequent at night and into the wee hours of the morning—needless to say it was the crash course in twin parenting that Chloe had been searching for and then some. The only thing Jill and Justin didn't seem to disagree on was the subject of food.

"Our kids are going to eat us out of house and home," Chloe replied on Thursday night as she laid back on the couch licking the last of the pizza sauce off her fingers. Jim sat at the other end, rubbing her feet while they watched a movie on TV.

"Are you sure it's the kids and not you who's going to eat us out of house and home?" he asked jokingly, looking over at her and the discarded pizza boxes. "Because I'm pretty sure it was you who went for that fourth slice of mushroom pizza tonight and not our babies."

"Jim, I can't help it that I'm eating for three here! Besides, I'm pretty sure I saw your brother polish off that sausage pizza almost entirely by himself…"

"And the kicker is that he won't gain an ounce since he's working it all off now playing pick-up basketball with some other guys he met in the building. Ahh, to have the metabolism of a twenty year old again…" Jim sighed wistfully as he finished kneading his wife's prettily manicured feet.

"I miss having the social life of a twenty year old," she grumbled as she changed positions and brought her head to rest on her husband's lap.

"Well why don't we? Let's go out tomorrow night for dinner and a movie, it'll be fun! How about it?"

Chloe smiled a smile that always served to melt him to the core. "Ok, let's do it. It's a date."

"It's a date," repeated, brown eyes twinkling. She brought his hand to rest on her stomach as he leaned over to give her a kiss, enjoying their first truly private moment in their new home.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**July 9, 2010. **The work week was winding down, and the only sounds heard throughout the bullpen were those of the desk fans whirring and the television monitors mounted on the pillars.

Clark blew back an errant wisp of hair and nudged his seat into the middle of the aisle. "Hey Jim, you said you were taking Chloe out on a date tonight, where were you thinking of taking her?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

The photographer looked up from the negatives spread out on the light board before him and over at his friend. "I was thinking we'd hit up Romano's Italian Eatery—there's something in the pasta sauce that she's been craving lately—and then I thought we'd check out a movie. I'm going to let her pick that one."

"Sounds like a nice night out."

"It should be. Hey CK, you got any advice on…" but Jim watched as his friend's attention drifted somewhere else, despite the lack of activity and motion in the thinning bullpen crowd. Lois headed back to her desk from the copy machine and Jim watched as her husband rose up hurriedly to meet her. Clark brushed the hair back off his wife's shoulder and whispered in her ear; she grew stiff as he spoke, giving him a tight smile as he withdrew while watching him move toward the stairwell. Distracted, she meandered back to her desk, setting the papers in her hand aside and rapidly thumping a pencil against her desk. Jim studied her, unobserved, wondering what brought about such a drastic change in demeanor, when Lois reached out and answered her desk phone about two minutes after Clark left. He found it odd that she answered it even though he distinctly remembered that the telephone hadn't rung.

"Uh huh…uh huh…fire on the East Side…four alarm…we're on it, thanks. JIM!" He leapt a mile out of his chair. "Grab your camera—a large fire's broken out in the Slums and we're the only ones here capable of covering it! Now come on, shake the lead out!" she yelled, grabbing her purse and racing for the elevator.

Jim whipped his head around at the half-empty bullpen; nobody else even seemed aware of this fire, let alone concerned about it. "Shouldn't we wait for some sort of word from the Chief?" he asked, bewildered, as he snatched up his equipment.

She stood by the elevator furiously pushing the down button. "There isn't time, now come on!"

"KENT!" Perry bellowed from his office.

"WE'RE ON IT, CHIEF!!!!" she shouted back just as the doors opened before her. Jimmy bolted after her, the camera bag slung over one shoulder while he cradled the digital camera in his hands.

"AND TAKE OLSEN WITH YOU!!!!" the Editor-in-Chief hollered at the closing doors of the elevator. "Nice to see somebody's one step ahead of the _Messenger._"


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N:** VictorianSuperman and I _co-authored_ this chapter, as she took a little snippet of an idea tacked onto the end and expanded upon it in ways I hadn't even considered; so the first part is a Wahoogal original, while the latter half is the wonderful work of VictorianSuperman.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, February 14, 2009. **__It was getting up on 7:30 at night and Clark was getting frustrated by the work before him, sensing that the pieces ultimately fit together without quite discerning how. Unconsciously he stood up from his desk and rolled back the sleeves of his dress shirt, the blue spandex having been deposited at home earlier due to the heavy aroma of soot that lingered about it, and he put his palms down flat on the workspace while leaning over the papers strewn before him. Jimmy looked away from his computer search two minutes later and caught sight of his colleague, his eyes going a little wider at what he saw._

_The young photographer had never recalled seeing his friend out of a long sleeved shirt and pants before, save for the summer time when he would occasionally arrive in the office in a short sleeve top, and that was only when the temperature rose into the triple digits. So to see him standing there now in a semi-relaxed attitude in his work clothes struck Jimmy as wholly new. His eyes traveled down the length of Clark's arms, noting the slight tan that remained on his skin even now, in the middle of winter, before falling upon the long light pink scar on his left forearm. _

_"Whoa!" he exclaimed, pointing. "How'd you get that beauty?"_

_He looked up from his papers and over at him. "Hm? What was that, Jimmy?" _

_The photographer sidled up next to Clark and pointed to the scar. "That, how'd you get that?"_

_Clark looked down at the faded wound, one of only a handful of lingering physical signs of his imprisonment. He stared at the mark intently, the time in his cell with Lex Luthor and the Kryptonite knife instantly coming to mind…__"Nice, huh? A friend of mine made it up for me with some spare alien minerals I happened to have lying around"..."I'm not a terrorist, I'm a criminal GENIUS; the only person I live to terrorize is you, and you're not even human". The Man of Steel flinched before reflexively covering the scar, shielding it from view with his large paw. Jimmy looked into his friend's flushed face and saw the flash of panic in his eye; he understood then that the mark had come about over the course of Clark's mysterious seven month disappearance._

_"It's just, um, you k-know, um, that is, I-I got it…" he spluttered, hastily rolling down the sleeves of his shirt._

_Jimmy looked on sympathetically and placed a reassuring hand gently on Clark's shoulder, who started at the touch. "It's ok, CK. It's ok."_

_He began to relax, but only slightly, before murmuring, "Thanks."_

_Jimmy relinquished his hold on him and scrunched up his face in concentration, carefully choosing his next words. "I always forget how hard it's been for you…I mean, I know you've been back ten months now, but being gone all that time must have done something to you on some level, right? And yet you came back in here and picked up right where you left off, acting like the same swell guy we've all known all these years…" Clark smirked in spite of himself at Jimmy's use of his signature adjective, "But something happened to you out there, didn't it? Something bad."_

_Clark grew solemn again. "Yes, Jimmy, something did."_

_He nodded at the confirmation. "And I get that you want to deal with it in your own way, but if you ever want to talk about it, just know that I'm here to listen. I may not be much but I've always got your back…you know that, right?"_

_His face softened at the manly show of compassion, and now he clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know." They looked at each other, man to man, communicating with their body language the things men feel are too trivial or 'womanly' to be uttered aloud.

* * *

_

_**East Side Slums, **_**July 9, 2010. **Superman circled over the scene of the growing blaze to assess how best to proceed with the rescue, all the while ignoring the slight pounding he felt in his temples. The apartment complex was an old wood and brick structure, built in the early twentieth century, that stood relatively tall for that area at eight floors high. By the time he arrived the middle two floors had been completely engulfed in flames; and based on the cries from the street, he discerned that those on the lower floors had managed to escape, leaving those on the upper floors trapped and awaiting rescue. A quick scan revealed there to be some thirty to forty people still left inside.

Without hesitation, the Man of Steel zipped down and broke through the front facing wall in the center of the building, near the starting point of the conflagration. As soon as he found his footing, the slight pounding in his temples became an overwhelming pain that shot through his whole head; he felt his joints begin to ache and his chest constrict, cementing in his mind that this would be no ordinary rescue. The throbbing sensation was not all that unbearable so he ignored it and pressed on, tending to the situation at hand because he knew no one else could get to the survivors in time. Stepping up onto the fifth floor, he scooped the nearest eight people into his arms, then lowered them down to the street level just as the fire trucks and ambulances began pouring in.

"Is there any way you can blow out the blaze?" one of the firefighters cried out to the superhero while he leapt off his seat in the truck and began attaching the hose to the nearest pump.

Superman shook his head. "It's moving too fast and the other buildings are too close together—if I attempt to blow it out I could inadvertently spread it to the whole neighborhood!" he shouted back before flying once more into the building.

* * *

"Chloe, I'm sorry but I can't take you to dinner tonight; Lois and I are on our way to a huge fire that's just broken out in the Slums!" Jim apologized to his wife while Lois sat beside him in the cab, flashing the driver another twenty if he moved just a little bit faster. The streets were beginning to flood with people and traffic and they were still a good four blocks away from the scene of the accident.

"I understand, you have a job to do, now go on and do it. And Jim? Be safe, ok? I love you, I'll see you when you get home."

"Love you too, bye!" He snapped the phone shut as the cab was cut off by another driver, sending both passengers flying forward in their seats.

Lois turned to her photographer. "Looks like we're going to have to run for it, are you ready?"

He smirked at her. "I was born ready." She thrust the money at the cabbie, who was now sufficiently boxed in with no means of escape, and they took off running towards the hazy orange and black horizon.

* * *

The man looked to be in his mid-fifties and was dressed in a tattered gray bathrobe; he had severe burns to his arms and face from trying to beat back the encroaching fire with an old blanket while protecting his neighbor, a young mother with three small children. Superman had gotten the four of them out on his earlier trip and now cradled the older man in his strong arms, gingerly lowering him onto a waiting gurney just as he caught sight of Lois and Jim approaching the scene; he didn't have long to watch them though, as there were still some twenty people left inside crying out for help.

Fire officials on the ground realized that the blaze was too far gone to really be contained and so focused their efforts on preventing the flames from moving to the nearby structures by dousing all buildings in the vicinity while helping Superman with his work. Lois took a good look around at the rickety old buildings of the Slums, and seemed to realize for the first time what a true tinderbox it was, and how this one fire could irreparably deface a quarter of the City in one go.

Lois grabbed the arm of a passing firefighter and thrust her tape recorder in his face as Jim started snapping away. "Lois Lane-Kent, _Daily Planet_, any idea what started this blaze?"

"No Ma'am, I can't say," he replied, just as an explosion of glass erupted from a window on the seventh floor. Superman exited, struggling to balance two people in each arm as well as the one dangling inelegantly around his neck, as he lowered them to the safety of the ground. Pointing to the superhero the firefighter added, "But maybe he can."

Her hair was damp with sweat and plastered to her face as the temperature around her rose abominably high. She studied her husband there in the midst of his work and noted how haggard he looked; normally Clark wore a mask of stoicism as he went about his rescues, but here he looked positively fatigued. Not only that, but his suit looked ripped and torn in a few places, meaning his usually invulnerable aura was wearing thin. _There must be Kryptonite in the building…oh God!

* * *

_

Clark inclined his head towards his wife at her barely audible gasp and saw her eyes flash open in fear for his safety, but he had no time to spare as the heartbeats of ten more frightened people trapped on the upper most level resounded in his ears, keeping time with the heavy-hammered pounding in his temples. The longer he spent around the crumpling structure the worse he felt, but it couldn't be helped—he was the only one capable of assisting those on the upper floors. With far more effort than it had taken him thirty-five minutes ago, he propelled himself up off the ground and into the eighth floor of the engulfed building.

* * *

Lois held her breath, ignoring the notepad and tape recorder in her hands, while Jim darted all around her capturing images of the scene—a khaki and white-colored blur all his own. She stared up at the window Superman had burst through not five minutes earlier while, in a stroke of luck, the fire officials on the ground began to get the upper hand of the blaze. Jim snapped a shot of her, the lithe female reporter in a brown skirt and cream-colored blouse, staring up at the heavens while standing amidst a frenetic sea of firemen running back and forth with hoses and axes. Years later he'd exhibit the photo and title it, 'Waiting for a Hero'.

* * *

Superman re-emerged on the roof with all ten of the remaining victims either clinging to his outstretched arms or around his neck. He stepped off the ledge—much like a suicide jumper—and fairly plummeted to the sidewalk, stopping himself short just before colliding with the pavement and lowering his feet gently to the ground. His once imposing 6'4" figure now stood hunched over as the grateful tenants were collected by waiting paramedics; when the last had relinquished their hold on him, the Man of Steel collapsed on all fours and coughing and spluttering as he tried in vain to catch his breath, all the while crawling away from the inferno and into the street, his strength all but gone.

Rescue workers, victims and on-lookers alike gave him wide berth as he painfully dragged himself out into the middle of the road. His blue spandex suit was in tatters around his arms, legs and chest, exposing large expanses of skin; Clark was bloody, burned and soot-covered, struggling to breathe on the world stage, and no one was stepping up to help him. His wife let out a strangled yelp and took one stride forward before checking herself, throwing a hand over her mouth while biting her lower lip anxiously and fighting back tears.

Ever since Lois and Clark's wedding, the pair had been striving toward separating the image of Lois and Superman in the public eye, keeping themselves out of the tabloid spotlight as best they knew how. For her to step out into that road and assist him now would only serve to undo all their months of work, and they both knew it.

Clark's breaths were coming in in short gasps while the smoke rattled about in his lungs. He thought he heard the sound of Lois' frantic heartbeat echoing in his ears, until he realized that the cadence wasn't hers—it was his own. _I need to get out of here, I need sunlight. _He looked up at the sky seeking solace only to realize that the sun had nearly sunk below the horizon. There would be no respite for him tonight, he could hardly crawl let alone fly towards the sun; _now I just need to get out of here and get home to Lois and the kids without anyone following me—I just need to… _

He struggled to get back up on his feet, forcibly pushing his panic to the back of his mind. His immense frame was still folded up in an awkward-looking squat when his right foot slipped out from under him and he came crashing back down on the concrete, hard. Clark winced in pain at the contact; the street beneath his feet cracked around him from where it had broken his fall. His mind was reeling and his eyelids grew heavy as the pain from the Kryptonite exposure finally overwhelmed him; he locked eyes with Lois just as he feared he was about to lose consciousness.

At long last, an EMT stepped forward with a portable oxygen tank and mask, and slipped it around Superman's face. He looked up at the medic gratefully, his left hand cupped over the mouthpiece as he inhaled deeply, coughing madly as the fresh air filled his aching lungs. The oxygen revived him, but it didn't help to restore all the power that was still being drained away by the Kryptonite, leaving Clark to wonder how he was going to get himself out of this latest predicament and home.

* * *

Against his better judgment, Jim crouched down fifteen feet away in a space nearly devoid of gawkers, off to the left of Superman, snapping his shutter on what he thought was a Pulitzer Prize winning shot: a worried-looking Man of Steel, one of the greatest and humblest heroes to ever walk the Earth, reduced to crawling around on all fours and struggling for breath with a clear plastic mask covering his mouth and nose.

What Jim didn't know was that this particular photograph would never again see the light of day and would forever bear an unusual and unexpected title.

* * *

Lt. Henrickson arrived on the scene shortly after the young medic slipped the mask on the fallen rescuer and quickly sought out the waylaid superhero. Word had spread over the radio that Superman was in distress after having saved the lives of forty-three people from the disastrous fire in the Slums and he hastened to the scene to help his friend as best he could. "CLEAR THE WAY, LET US THROUGH, MAKE WAY!!!" he bellowed, parting the ever-increasing crowd with his booming voice as it carried over the din. Al crouched down on a knee, looking into the wide, panicked blue eyes of the hyperventilating reporter-turned-hero and watched the sweat commingling with black smudges of ash on his friend's face and brow.

"Help me…Al," Clark managed weakly. "K-Kryp…Kryptonite…" He let go of his hold on the oxygen mask and clasped the grizzled, middle-aged Lieutenant's arm in a vice-like grip, causing the police official to grimace and stumble a little under his weight.

"Easy there, Buddy, we got you," he said soothingly, motioning for other officers to come over and help Superman get back up on his own two legs. It took four men to lift the man to his feet and guide him over to a nearby batch of squad cars, with Clark dragging the oxygen tank alongside him and clutching the mask to his face. Al made his way around the back of the vehicle as soon as he got his friend settled in the front passenger seat, and he motioned for his colleagues to escort him in their own cars before climbing into the driver's seat and taking off.

Five police cars fled the scene at high speeds, leaving a bewildered crowd in their wake—foremost among them were Lois Lane-Kent and James Olsen.

* * *

Al gunned his car down the road, hoping to shake any followers off his trail. "How much strength have you got left?" he asked, glancing over at Clark as the man's breaths were coming in a little easier.

He pulled the mask a little ways away from his face. "Not…much…I can't…fly…but I can't…walk up to…my front door…either." The Lieutenant smirked at his friend's attempt at humor, glad to hear him sounding a little more like normal and a little less terrified than he had back on the street. "I didn't…know…how I…was going… to get…out of…there…until you…showed up."

"Yeah well, that's why I haven't retired yet; I figured you'd need me to come bail your caped butt out again, it was only a matter of time," he joked. Clark tried to laugh and did, briefly, before beginning to wheeze into the mask. _The poor guy looks like hell, _Al thought to himself, taking in his sweaty, soot-covered visage out of his peripheral vision.

"Where are…we going?"

"I'm trying to figure that one out; where are your other clothes?"  
"_Daily Planet_…rooftop…why?"

Al shook his head. "No matter; listen, I've got a few blankets in the trunk, we'll park around the corner from the apartment, wrap you up pretty good and I'll help you up there. I think it's safe to say that we haven't been followed; I'll radio the other cars to head back to the precinct."

Clark grimaced and pulled the mask away from his face again, "No…can't go…home yet."

"What?! Don't tell me that you guys have gotten _that_ paranoid about someone following you and drawing a connection. Luthor's dead for crying out loud!" Al was hard pressed to keep his eyes on the road and not gape at the injured man.

"It must seem like a…stupid reason…" The oxygen mask dangled near Clark's chin as he continued speaking, "I just don't want…to risk the kids…seeing me like this." He gestured at his suit and paused to catch his breath, sneaking a few lungfuls of air from the canister. "I'm worried that…it'll bring…Jason's nightmares…back."

"Ok, Buddy," the Lieutenant sagely nodded in agreement. "We'll take you back to the precinct, get you cleaned up, find something for you to wear that's not completely shredded to bits and when things quiet down some more we'll slip you out the back and get you home. How's that sound?"

"Like a long evening." Clark relaxed a bit in his seat, eyes drifting closed every so often as the fatigue finally caught up with him now that the adrenaline and shock were wearing off. Suddenly, he sat up ramrod straight scaring his friend and sending the mask flying away from his face. "Lois! Al, I have to call her! She's probably…worried sick…by now!"

"You just let me worry about that, ok?" Al replied in a commanding tone, hoping to diffuse the hero's impending panic attack. "Now get that mask back up—me and that good clean air are about the only two things you've got going for you right now."

* * *

Jim and Lois soon left the scene, going in their separate directions shortly after Superman was ushered off the premises: Lois to her apartment to pay off the babysitter and await word from Clark, Jim to his apartment to check in on Chloe and look over his photos from the conflagration.

He returned to his place only to find it empty and wisely decided to shower and change clothes before Chloe arrived back home. Jim had just pulled a small burger out of the electric grill on the counter and was about to dig in when his wife strolled through the front door.

"Hey Beautiful," he said, rising up from the table toward her, kissing her on the cheek while relieving her of a small doggie bag of food. He promptly opened it up and stuck his nose in. "Mmm, smells good; where'd you guy's go?"

She kissed him back and lowered herself into a vacant seat beside his as he put her leftovers in the refrigerator. "Justin, Jill and I ended up going to Romano's; they had the most delicious pasta sauce, it was just so good, I couldn't get enough of it—but hey, how'd your assignment go? Everyone make it out of the fire ok?"

He sat back down and finished chewing his first bite before answering. "All the tenants made it out, we think. I heard fire officials speculating that there may have been one or two casualties, given reports from the neighbors that they interviewed on the street. There were a few other victims with burns and things that got carted off to the hospital as soon as Superman brought them out, but other then that it wasn't too bad—speaking of which, the Big Guy wasn't doing too good near the end there; the police had to help escort him away from the scene."

Chloe's smile vanished from her face. "The police had to escort Superman away? Why? What happened? Is he alright?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders and swallowed some soda. "I don't know what happened. On his last trip out of the building, he all but fell to the sidewalk and then, once he was sure everyone was safe, he kind of collapsed and dragged himself out into the street; there must have been Kryptonite in the building somewhere, because I doubt a simple fire could've brought him to his knees like that. One of the paramedics on the scene gave him an oxygen mask, and then this cop showed up from out of nowhere, got him on his feet and took him away." So busy was he with telling her his story and eating his burger that he missed Chloe's lips tighten into a thin, straight line of worry. "Hey, where are Justin and Jill? Didn't they come back from dinner with you?" he piped up suddenly, drawing her attention back to the table.

"Hmm? Oh yes, they did, but they wanted to take one last walk around since they've got to take the early morning train tomorrow." She stared vacantly out the window behind him before resolving on a course of action. "Honey, would you excuse me a minute?"

"Sure," he replied, looking up at her somewhat perplexed. Chloe sauntered down the hall as nonchalantly as she could, gathering her purse as she went, before shutting herself in the bedroom. Jim didn't think anything more of her abrupt departure from the room and he finished eating his burger, famished from all the early evening activity. Ten minutes later she re-emerged, very subdued, and sat down on the couch, her cell phone clenched in her fist.

* * *

_**Metropolis Police Headquarters, **_**July 9, 2010. **Al and his men successfully ushered Superman through the back door of the MPD Headquarters, and from there the Man of Steel spent fifteen minutes sitting hunkered down in a chair in the corner of his friend's office while the older man darted everywhere trying to secure the locker room for Clark's private use. The tired superhero spent the bulk of his down time tiredly wondering how he was going to get word to Lois and the kids to let them know that he was alright while sucking down oxygen from the canister by his side.

_If anyone ever found out I was here, or checked the phone records and traced them back to Lois… _Fresh beads of perspiration broke out on his brow, mingling with the soot. _When did I become so paranoid? _Clark grimaced, recalling exactly how and when he'd become some suspicious and untrusting, and privately resolved anew never to underestimate his enemies again. _I can't let what happened to me happen to them, not to Lois and Jason and Haley; I __won't__ let anything happen to them._

Al showed up a moment later, red faced and out of breath, "I think I'm gonna need some of that oxygen before too long if I keep this up. I really oughta follow through on my New Year's resolution to hit the gym more." That got a chuckle out of his friend and he waited a moment to try and catch his breath before guiding him out of the relative safety of his office. "Now, like I said earlier, don't you worry about a thing; you just take care of yourself right now. I'll give Lois a call and let her know you're alright." Clark was about to protest when Al held up a hand, anticipating his friend's reaction. "I'm going to use one of the prepaid phones we give to our undercover guys so that way nothing can be traced back to you, me or the Precinct—anyone who tries to trace the LUDS from here tonight will be sorely disappointed. Normally I'd just ask to use your cell phone, but would I be correct in assuming that it's also on the _Daily Planet_ rooftop, along with your other suit?"

"Actually," Clark broke off to inhale more oxygen. "Lois has it. I gave it to her…before I left for the fire."

"Oh, good call but for future reference you might want to have a back-up handy in that get-up of yours. Being incommunicado really stinks at times like these."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of Clark's lips. "Well, we just need to make sure…that these situations…are few and far between."

"Ha ha."

They fell into silence as he led the stumbling superhero through a maze of semi-empty corridors until they reached the back of the building. Al left him under the care of two guards who'd driven with him from the scene and were now standing watch by the front door to prevent further discovery of Superman being in the building. With a grateful nod from Clark he stepped into the locker room, leaving the Lieutenant to go call Lois.

* * *

Al met briefly with his captain to apprise him of the situation before moving with purposeful strides to the other end of the precinct house; the Lieutenant soon caught sight of his quarry—the small conference room that served as the MPD's base for undercover and covert operations. Nudging open the door, he stuck his head in to make sure it was empty before slipping inside, then hastened over to the front of the large, locked gun safe. Only a select few knew that the key was hidden in a magnetic box attached to the back of the safe, and with a grimace Al squeezed his large hand into the small space, giving a quiet cry of triumph as his fingers retrieved the box. Pulling out the key and quickly rifling through the modified safe he pulled out a drawer and found what he was looking for: prepaid cell phones.

He snatched one up and held it beside his own phone, dialing Lois' cell phone number from his contact list into the pre-paid cell's and cursing under his breath as the call went straight to voice mail. A brief, barely coherent message was all he dared to leave as he tried her home phone number next, wanting to get a hold of her personally to let her know that Clark was ok. "Hi, you've reached the Kent family, we're not able to take your call right now, but…" the Lieutenant groaned as he listened to his friend's overly cheery greeting, this time leaving a more intelligible message for Lois then the one before and fervently hoping she'd get it.

After securing the safe and returning the key to it's hiding spot he made one more detour, ducking into a small supply room near the booking station and grabbed a huge pair of blue scrubs and prison issue, foam sandals. He impishly thought about returning the blue scrubs and replacing them with an orange prison jumpsuit, but decided his friend had been through enough that evening without dealing with his teasing too. With the scrubs tucked safely under one arm, Al finally allowed himself to take a deep breath and he took off for the locker room once more. Now the only worry was about how to get his friend out the door and back home.

Al nodded to the guards posted on either side of the men's locker room entrance, calling out as he entered, "Hey there, sorry about leaving you alone for so long, but the captain had a lot of questions for me. He wanted to know just how long I planned to hide you here, what your condition was, how I was going to get you out, and…oh SHIT!"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**July 9, 2010.** Lois stood in the living room in her soot covered clothes, anxiously pacing the floorboards. She'd come home and made quick work of dismissing the babysitter, looking in on her sleeping daughter, checking her son's homework with him and had just now sent him off to play in his room before bed. Chloe had called not long after Jason ran off down the hallway but she wasn't too free to talk; Lois quickly promised her that she would be the second to hear on Clark's condition after she heard from him herself.

She heard her cell phone chirp from inside her purse and quickly crossed the room to retrieve it, fervently hoping it was her husband. The number wasn't one registered on her phone and, assuming it was a rival reporter, she chose not to answer it. No sooner had she plugged it into her charger than her home phone rang out with the same unknown caller. Lois ignored this call as well and walked over to the front window, pulling the back the curtains and scanning the night sky.

The home phone rang for a second time and this time she _did _recognize the number on the caller ID. Picking it up before it had another chance to ring Lois intercepted Martha's call.

"What happened, where is he, is he alright, but more importantly what happened?!?!" the older woman asked all in one breath.

And with a tired sigh the young woman proceeded to tell her mother-in-law everything she knew about the evening's events.

* * *

_**Metropolis Police Headquarters, Men's Locker Room, **_**July 9, 2010. **The place was quiet at that time of night, as most of the men were either on duty or had already gone home for the day, and Clark was grateful for the chance to bathe in private. He left his boots standing underneath an old wooden chair and his tattered suit folded up on top of the seat, hidden by several fluffy white towels. Pushing down on the spigot of shared liquid soap brought back long forgotten memories of high school and football practice, and he smiled nostalgically under the sharp spray of the water. He was vigorously trying to rub the stubborn ash and soot off his abs and arms for the third time when the sound of unfamiliar voices reached his ears.

"Smith, quit whining—Ali had you pinned fair and square, now don't welch! You're the one who made up that silly bet in the first place!"

"I'm not backin' out, all I'm saying is that he had one foot off the mat so it doesn't really count!"

"Hey now, I was there for the whole thing and Reagan here is right; you made the bet, you lost the bet, and now you gotta pay up."

"Now look guys, it's just ten bucks, so if Smith here wants to bitch, moan and groan over a measly ten dollars because I was able to pin him in under five minutes then that's his business…"

"That's it! Re-match, right here, right…" The speaking man rounded the corner and nearly collided with Clark's broad chest as he emerged from the showers with a towel wrapped tightly around his waist and another draped around his shoulders. "Hey Buddy, sorry, I didn't see you there."

"It's ok," Clark replied, glancing up quickly at the foursome as they made their way to their lockers to change. He kept his shoulders hunched and his head low, avoiding eye contact in the hopes that he wouldn't be recognized. _Al must have forgotten there was a back door, _Clark mused as he caught sight of the entrance the men had used, bypassing his protective detail posted in the front of the locker room. _He really should've been using that gym more, maybe then he'd have remembered the second entrance._

"Where was I?" the young man started up again as he unlocked his locker. "Oh yeah, re-match, right here, right now. We even got ourselves a new witness to verify the facts this time."

"The facts don't need _verification_, Smith; I'm going to whoop you same as last time, end of story," his comrade retorted. He stood before the group, his closely shaved head shiny with sweat and his chest jutting out proudly before him.

"Hey you must be new around here," an unidentified fair haired man said, sitting down next to Clark on the bench in a pair of baggy shorts and a sweaty tank top.

Not knowing what else to do, Clark proceeded to towel off his hair. "Uh yeah, I am." He purposefully left off his introduction; it had been a long day, he was tired, achy and hungry, and wanted nothing more than to go home and fall asleep in his wife's arms—he was not in the mood to deal with any hero worship tonight. The fellow next to him either didn't notice the slip or chose not to comment on it and stuck out his hand. "I'm Neil Reagan, nice to meet you." Leaving the towel partially covering his head, Clark shook it and chanced a quick glance at his companions as Neil continued, "That big quiet guy over there is Damon Kennison, and beside him is Trevor Ali…"

"Yeah, but I prefer to go by 'Mohammad' Ali around these chumps, cause I 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!'" he sang out as he turned to face Clark, smiling and throwing mock punches in the air like the Champ.

"Wise guy," Kennison added from beside him.

Reagan laughed at the last comment and jerked a thumb over at his taller, well-built comrade. "And the sore loser here is Mike Smith."

"Hi," Clark said, nodding at everyone before continuing to vigorously towel his dark head.

"So, new guy, where'd you come from?" Kennison called out as he pulled off his worn sneakers. "I mean, you weren't in the gym with us, so what were you, on the job or something?"

"Something like that."

"Bet he was at that fire," Smith announced as he pulled his dirty shirt off over his head, mussing up his dark brown hair. "The one what's-his-face came in and told us about over in the Slums. Heard him saying something about four alarms."

"That where you were?" Reagan asked with genuine interest, turning to his new friend.

"Yeah."

"They get everybody out ok?"

"Yes," Clark answered confidently. "As far as I could tell everyone got out ok." _I hope I got everyone out alright…_

Everyone save for Smith exhaled sighs of relief. "Well that's good news."

"Why is that good news?" Mike chimed in. "There's nothing but a bunch of drug dealers, drug users, drunks and hookers in the Slums—they're nothing but a bunch of bums who make our jobs a hell of a lot harder than they already are."

Clark felt the anger boil up within him and as much as he wanted to remain unobtrusive, he couldn't stop himself from replying hotly. "They're people who have every right to live, regardless of where they come from! Just because circumstance threw them in a tenement building on the East Side doesn't mean that they're junkies or dealers OR that they deserve to burn to death in their own beds anymore than you do!"

Smith threw his hands up in apologetic surrender. "Whoa Man, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hit a nerve…"

"Serves you right, you jerk," Kennison added from his spot on the bench, looking very subdued.

A moment's silence passed before Neil turned back to Clark, asking, "Do they know how it started?"

"Accidental. It looks like it started somewhere on the fourth floor, then was spurred on by an accelerant that was already present in the apartment. The way it struck pretty much had everyone from the fifth floor on up trapped. It's a good thing—" he stopped himself short, having gotten so caught up in the moment that he almost inadvertently admitted who he was to the four strangers.

"It's a good thing what?" Reagan pushed.

"It's a good thing Superman showed up when he did," Kennison said, getting up to rummage through his locker. He continued, his voice muffled, "I sure hope he's okay though."

"What do you mean by that?!" Shock was evident in Smith's voice.

"You mean you didn't hear? Oh yeah, you guys were too busy playing WWE on the mats to notice. Anyways, it was on nearly every TV at the gym; I had to borrow this guy's headphones, but the gist of it was Superman collapsed after rescuing everyone from the building and there's video footage of the Lieutenant hustling him out of there and into a squad car before taking off like a bat out of hell."

Reagan looked Clark straight in the eye, concern evident in his voice as he fired off question after question. "Did you see him? Did you help him? Was he badly hurt?"

Clark sighed tiredly and hung his head momentarily—there was no point in hiding any longer: the questions weren't going to go away and these well-meaning officers didn't know that his head ached or that his lungs still burned and that all he wanted was to go home. He threw back his head and stood to his full, imposing height before quietly addressing the men, "Thank you for your concern. I'm fine—a little tired, but fine."

"You're…fine," Kennison repeated. "You say that like…"

"You're…you're…you're…" Reagan spluttered, trying to form a coherent sentence. All four men stopped talking and openly gawked at him; up until a second ago they considered the man before them to be one of their own, and now it was discovered that he was the Man of Steel. Clark felt the crimson flush rise to his cheeks at the open admiration just as Al burst into the room.

"Look, I'm sorry about leaving you alone for so long, but the captain had a lot of questions for me. He wanted to know just how long I planned to hide you here, how I was going to get you out, and…oh SHIT!" the Lieutenant cried out as he found himself in the middle of a small circle of men, thinking he'd find Clark alone in the locker room.

Ali sat down hard on the bench beside Kennison, both men staring at their new friend in wide eyed shock. "Whoa."

"How did you four get in here?! This room was supposed to be sealed off!" Al asked sharply.

"You forgot about the back door, Al," Clark replied, the same small smile from earlier again tugging at the corners of his lips. He unintentionally crossed his arms in front of his bare chest in classic Superman pose and heard Reagan gasp beside him.

The Lieutenant's jaw went slack as he realized he'd forgotten about the second door, and he broke his angry glare away from his subordinates. "Right, right, back entrance. I knew I forgot something…crap…"

"You're…you're…" Reagan kept trying, before finally spitting out the name, "You're Superman."

Clark met the other man's dazed look head on with a firm and steady gaze. "Yes, I am."

Smith surprised them all by speaking next. "Is there anything we can do to help you, Sir?"

Suddenly, all five men in the room watched as the Man of Steel shifted uncomfortably, his bare feet hardly touching the tiled floors. "Well, um …"

"Anything, Superman, you name it," Kennison called out, jumping to his feet and standing straight as an arrow, just like Smith. The other men in the room nodded in agreement, overwhelming Clark with their unabashed generosity.

"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes I could borrow, do you?"

"That reminds me." Al spoke up again, his voice gruff. "I picked up a set of scrubs for you, figured you'd need them."

"Thanks." Clark accepted the small bundle from his friend.

"Now I hate to rain on your parade, but I haven't a clue how we're gonna get you out of here. Damned reporters are camped out at every exit and they aren't showing signs of leaving any time soon."

Clark felt like saying a few choice words, especially about Al's lack of respect for his _other_ profession, but refrained in his present company. _I'll be lucky to see Lois and the kids any time today_. "Well, it looks as though I'll be trespassing on your hospitality a bit longer then, huh?" He sighed and sat down dejectedly on the bench again.

"Uh Sir?" Both Al and Clark turned to look at Ali, who had a determined gleam in his eyes. "I think we might be able to help with that."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Henrickson and three uniformed officers hustled Superman out the front door and down the steps of the precinct to a waiting squad car, a blanket thrown over his head to shield him from the overwhelming flashbulbs and mob of reporters. Screaming, "NO COMMENT!" at the top of his lungs as he guided the young man to the car left Al very nearly hoarse after only two minutes' worth of work.

Meanwhile, two young men wearing MPD t-shirts strolled calmly out the newly cleared back entrance and over toward a beat up Chevy. The few journalists who remained covering the back door glanced up as the men exited the building before ignoring the pair and quickly returning to their gossip. The blond man continued animatedly telling his friend a story while his companion nodded along quietly, his damp, dark hair slicked back underneath a black and red Metropolis Meteors baseball cap that was pulled low over his brow.

Not a single reporter noticed the too-short sweatpants or the orange foam sandals on the tall man's otherwise bare feet as he slipped into the vehicle's passenger side.


	46. Chapter 46

_**East Side Slums, **_**July 9, 2010. **The knock on his front door that evening was nearly imperceptible…so much so that Leroy thought he'd imagined the sound. He grabbed a well concealed gun in the living room and moved noiselessly toward the door to see who dared intrude upon his privacy. Light still poked through the other side of the peephole, indicating that whoever was in the hall did not bother to obstruct his view from Uncle.

He dared to take a peek. It was Jacob and Shane. Hastily Leroy unhooked the chains on his door and opened it just enough for the two men to enter and not an inch more; it became readily clear that Shane was panting and sweating, trying to catch his breath.

"What is it? Is it the warehouse?"

Shane, who was doubled over with his hands on his knees, shook his head 'no'. Jacob studiously avoided eye contact with his boss and looked as though he desperately wished it was trouble at the warehouse.

"The tenement building on Steiner Street went up in flames. It looks like Kirk Fraser died in the blaze; he wasn't with the survivors on the sidewalk either before or after Superman started pulling them all out. What's more is that the Man of Steel was…he was…"

"He was what?"

"He was…_incapacitated_ after the rescue, Sir, greatly incapacitated. He's got to know that there was Kryptonite in the building since that's the only thing that could make him so weak and with every cop and firefighter in the City crawling over the scene, it's only a matter of time before they discover who the apartment belonged to and why Kirk had the Kryptonite on him."

Leroy stepped away from the two men standing just inside the door and began pacing to and fro in the narrow inner hallway, the gun gripped fiercely at his side.

"**FUCK IT ALL TO HELL, THAT STUPID SON OF A BITCH!!!!!!!**"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**July 10, 2010, 2:33 am. **Clark stealthily entered his building in the pre-dawn hours, wearing his loaner outfit from the guys at the precinct: foam thong sandals with a pair of high-water sweatpants, an MPD t-shirt and an old, Metropolis Meteors ball cap pulled low over his face. He quietly knocked on the front door, not having his key with him, and Lois flew toward the sound; she flung it open in an instant and ushered him inside before he could even muster a "hello". As soon as the door was closed she wrapped her arms tight around him, ignoring his pale and bedraggled appearance.

"Oh thank God, I was so worried!" she exclaimed when she finally allowed herself to breathe, cupping his face in her hands and examining him more closely. "Come here, sit down, let me get a good look at you. Are you ok? What _happened _out there?! And how come you didn't try to get in touch with me to let me know you were alright!?"

"What? I did try but Al said it was safer if he called you. He said he left several messages."

"What, did he send them by carrier pigeon?" she asked sarcastically.

"No, he used a clean phone and called your cell _and_ the house; I'm honestly quiet surprised that you missed all of them."

"He called my cell_ and _the house?" Lois bit her lip in thought a moment before the light bulb dawned overhead. "Ohhhh, THAT was the unknown number that kept calling! I thought it was a reporter so I just kept ignoring it; I didn't even think to look at the messages because I was so worried about you. I know, I know, we need a better system...though I don't know where you could hide a cell phone in that suit."

He smiled and grabbed her into a fierce hug, placing a soft kiss against her forehead. "Very funny you; whatever happened to all the money we saved not having all those long distance phone bills?"

She blushed at the remembrance and hugged him tighter until he began to cough from the smoke still rattling around in his lungs. Lois instantly pulled back then, standing at arm's length from her husband and giving him a good once over while fretting over him like a mother hen. "Come over here, sit down, you're too pale."

"Lois, I'm fine, really," he insisted as she draped his arm around her shoulder and led him to the couch before rushing to the kitchen to get some water. "There were trace amounts of Kryptonite in the building that got mixed in with all the smoke from the fire; it's not as bad as that time at Jason's birthday, so you don't need to worry, but it's not great either. My joints are all achy and I can still feel the smoke rattling around in my lungs a bit—all I need is a good sunbath, but that won't be possible for another couple of hours. Al took me back to Headquarters after he picked me up in the Slums and let me use their facilities to clean up and change, then he used a decoy ploy to smuggle me out of the building. I feel much better now then I did a couple hours ago, and hopefully I'll be able to shake this off by breakfast time; but are the kids ok? They don't know anything was wrong, do they?"

She whipped her hair around her shoulders as she hastened back to him with a large glass of water in her hands. "Jason knows I'm anxious about something, and he and Haley both noticed you were gone at bedtime, but they don't know about the fire. I made sure to keep them away from the television so they didn't pick up on anything; I didn't want them to have to worry too."

"Good, there's no need to upset them about this. I should be better by the time they're up and ready to go play in the park in the morning, that way they won't know anything's amiss…"

"You're not seriously thinking of chasing them around the playground in the morning, are you? Not after the night you've had! Clark, I'm putting my foot down here! You need to take it easy and rest, let your body heal…" Lois ordered in a loud whisper as she stood in front of him on the sofa, hands fisted on her hips, unconsciously emulating one of her husband's famous poses.

He raised an eyebrow at her curiously. "You're putting _your_ foot down? I seem to recall that not going over so well the last time those same words were uttered back in Kansas …"

"I don't care, I'm your wife now and I am _going_ to make you listen to reason, come hell or high water!" Her nostrils flared violently as she stood before him, staring down into his innocent-looking blue eyes. Clark laughed lightly and pulled her gently into his lap.

"I love it when you get all protective of me," he whispered lowly in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist and trying to ease their earlier fears.

"I'm being serious here! You could have been badly hurt tonight and if Al hadn't shown up when he did, I would have had no way of getting you out of there! What if …" he stopped her further fretting with a passionate kiss.

"Sweetheart, Al did show up and I'm fine, so let's put it all behind us and get some rest, ok?" he pleaded when they parted.

"Fine," she reluctantly conceded. "But we WILL talk about this more in the morning, is that understood?"

He nodded his head mock-solemnly and went to kiss her again when she stopped him and handed him his cell phone. "What's this?"

"_YOU_ need to call your mother—she's worried sick—and I need to call Chloe and let her know you're home safe and sound. Jim told her what happened to Superman when he got home and she's concerned for you too. She made me promise to call her the minute you walked in the door, no matter the hour."

He flipped open the cell phone as she wiggled out of his lap and reached for the cordless handset on the bar. "Fine—but five minutes max and then we hit the hay, agreed?"

"Agreed. I don't want this horrible night to drag on any longer then necessary."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**July 10, 2010. **Jim said his good-byes to his siblings at the apartment, begging off and claiming to want to get an early start on the photos from the fire for the Chief. Chloe kissed the top of his head as he sat at his desk in the corner of the living room, loading up the photos from his memory card onto his laptop, before making her way to the train station with Justin and Jill.

"I'll try to get your brother to call you more often," she said, hugging Jill close and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as they stood beside the train on the platform. Chloe made her way over to Justin next and reached up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck too. "And we'll be up in Mayfield when Jenny has the baby, so we'll see you again before the summer's out."

"You better!" Jill cried out as she leapt aboard the train in dramatic fashion and quickly ducked out of sight.

"Thanks again for having us down; it was really nice being in the city for awhile," Justin added, giving his sister-in-law another hug before following his twin.

* * *

Hardly moving from his work, Jim sat in front of his computer for quite some time, carefully poring over the hundreds of shots he'd taken the night before. First there were the shots of the crowd, then those of the fire officials scrambling to secure the area and douse the flames, along with several shots of Superman drifting down to the sidewalk with a number of victims in his arms.

_I hope the Big Guy's alright,_ Jim mused as he browsed through picture after picture watching the Man of Steel grow more and more fatigued while shuttling those trapped on the upper floors to safety. His eyes finally lit upon the shot he knew would earn him the biggest points with Perry and quite possibly the Pulitzer: Superman on his knees, eyes squeezed shut and clutching the oxygen mask to his face after everyone had been rescued. He set about cropping and cleaning the picture before sending it off to the Chief when something on the Man of Steel's left arm caught his eye. Jim zoomed in on the superhero's forearm, studying the long, light pink scar that had been exposed as his suit frayed in the fire.

_I've seen this before, but not on Superman…where have I seen this before? _He mulled it over awhile as he sat before the screen, fingers steepled under his chin, with the scar in prominent view._ It was in the bullpen…Clark rolled up his sleeves and I asked him how he got his scar…That's __**Clark's**__ scar, but it can't be…_

Jimmy sat up, suddenly wide awake, adrenaline pumping through his veins. With trembling hands, he quickly pulled up an archived file of photos he'd taken around the _Daily Planet_ bullpen, as well as a file of photos of the Man of Steel. Finding a shot of Clark alone and fully facing the camera was difficult, but finding one of Superman in the exact same pose was damn near impossible; the superhero was always on the move, even when he seemed to turn towards Jim's camera, his mind and his body were always otherwise engaged. After he found what he was looking for, Jim brought them up on a split screen and examined them closely.

"**OH MY GOD!!!!!**"

* * *

Chloe slipped her key in the front door and re-entered the apartment, wiping the sweat off her brow with her forearm as she hung her purse on the hall tree beside her. _I can't imagine it getting much hotter out there. Boy will I be glad when this heat wave ends; I should be grateful that I'm not 9 months along and waddling around in all of this_. Her thoughts were interrupted when she caught sight of Jim sitting in front of his laptop, still as a statue. There was a picture of Superman on all fours in the middle of a street on the monitor before him, blown up to fill the entire screen.

"Hi Honey," she said cheerily.

No answer.

"Are you ok?"

Still no answer.

"Are you thirsty? I'm going to the kitchen to get a glass of water if you want one too," she said, already starting to move away from the door. "The heat outside is something else, let me tell you…

His barely audible, monotone voice cut the air like a knife. "Clark is Superman."

Chloe froze in her tracks, unable to tell if he was _asking_ her to verify this information or whether he was _telling_ her in order to confront her. She wheeled around slowly, all thoughts of the cold beverage abandoned. "I'm sorry?"

"Clark is Superman," he repeated, louder, his voice seething with anger.

Choosing neither to outright confirm nor deny what he said, she asked, "Why do you think that, Jim?"

"BECAUSE I HAVE FUCKING EYES, I CAN SEE!!!!" he screamed, jumping up and toppling his chair over as he pointed vehemently at the screen. Chloe took a startled step back at his outburst before slowly coming forward to take a good look at the picture of her friend; she knew it was Clark without having to inspect the photo, but she was looking for whatever it was that had betrayed that fact to Jim—and her husband didn't seem too eager to clear up her confusion. "When were you going to tell me?!?! Or were you even _GOING_ to tell me?!!!? Did you_ HONESTLY_ think I was dimwitted enough that I wouldn't find out!?!"

"Jim, I don't know…"

"Oh yes, _PLEASE_, lie to my face again!! That is JUST what this situation calls for right now, MORE LIES!!!! Chloe, you GREW UP WITH HIM FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!! You've known the guy for over twenty years, he's your BEST FRIEND, and you're honestly going to tell me you had NO IDEA THAT HE WAS SUPERMAN?!?!?! REALLY?!??!" Jim stomped across the room to the mantle, as far away from his wife as the room would allow while she sat herself down on the sofa, trying to keep her emotions in check while her husband's shouts careened wildly about the room.

"Jim, please, keep your voice down or the neighbors will hear you! I know it must have been difficult finding out this way..."

"NO SHIT, YOU THINK?!?!" he cried out exasperatedly, banging on the wall in frustration, not giving a damn if the whole of Metropolis heard him. "I can't believe everyone lied to me; Clark, Lois, _you_...we've shared everything, Chloe—_EVERYTHING—_and now I find out that that life is full of secret identities and shams. Do you even love me, I mean _really_ love me? Or did you just marry me out of convenience so you could be closer to Metropolis and closer to _him_!?!"

"How DARE YOU?!?! I DO LOVE YOU, I DO! And you know that we would **NEVER** deliberately hurt you..."

"Oh what, now you're going to DEFEND him now?!? Are you _KIDDING ME_?!?! And you three did hurt me, can't you see that?!" He flung his hands up in aggravation and finally turned around to face her once again. "God only knows how many times you all must have had a good laugh at my expense...what was I, some sort of joke to you guys?! Some kind of...of ignorant_ groupie_?!?" Jimmy paused in his rant as a random though crossed his mind and he palm-smacked his forehead. "All those times I got_ sooo_ excited because I finally got a front page-worthy picture of Superman for Perry and it was really_ CLARK_!!!! I must have sounded like some ridiculous _schoolgirl_ with a crush..." he spat out distastefully.

Chloe looked down at her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap and replied quietly but forcefully, "We never thought you were stupid, Jim, nor were you kept around as a 'groupie'. Clark was only trying to help."

"_Help_??!?!_ HELP_!?!?Help_ HOW_, by making me look like a damn imbecile day in and day out for the last ten years of my life!!?! GEEZ!!!" He glared at her, waiting for some response, some answer or show of defiance to further fuel his indignant rage, but she gave him none. Chloe simply stared up at him, waiting for the next outburst.

Jim's chest began to heave as he grew angrier and angrier with each moment of stony silence until he thought he would burst. "I can't...I just can't...I can't do this anymore..." he muttered, striding over to the table and snatching up his wallet and keys.

Her green eyes grew wide in alarm. "What does that mean? Jim, what does that _MEAN_?!?!" she screamed behind him as he walked away from it all, slamming the front door shut behind him.

* * *

Clark had followed his wife's orders and taken it relatively easy that day, much to his kids' dismay. Lois had shepherded them out to the park so they wouldn't be underfoot and he spent the bulk of the day alone, stretched out in a beach chair on the roof wearing his bathing suit and soaking in the UV rays that brought him his immense strength. Once fully recharged, he took a quick flight around the globe, stopping briefly to speak with his mother in Kansas and reassure her that he was truly alright, before returning home to enjoy dinner with his family.

"So Jason, did you have fun today with your mother and sister?" he asked as he was about to bite into a chicken nugget.

The boy was on the verge of answering when he, Haley and Lois all saw him jerk his head sharply to the right.

"Clark! CLARK!!!! Oh God, Clark, please answer me!!!!"

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, staring straight at Lois. "It's Chloe, she sounds panicked."

"So go already!" Lois shouted as he spun into a red and blue blur and took off out the window.

Jason looked over at his mother in alarm. "I'm sure your baby cousins are fine, Jason," she responded to his unasked question. _At least, I __hope__ they are, _she worried as she helped Haley keep her food on the highchair tray before her.

* * *

Chloe paced in front of the living room windows she'd thrown wide open, chewing anxiously on her thumbnail, face red and puffy from crying. Clark landed with a thud behind her; she spun around, catching sight of him in full Superman regalia, and pressed herself close to him, crying freely.

"Oh thank God, I didn't know who else to call! I know you're supposed to be taking it easy and I normally wouldn't bother you but I just didn't know what else to do…" Several loud, gut-wrenching sobs emanated from her throat just then and she didn't dare continue. He wrapped his long arms around her and held her close, guiding her to the sofa where she would be more comfortable, all the while waiting patiently for her to finish telling him whatever had caused her such distress.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" she said, gasping for breath. He held her and willed her not to hyperventilate, knowing that it was bad not only for her but for the babies as well.

"It's ok, Clo—now why don't you tell me what's going on? Whatever it is we can take care of it together, I promise. It's going to be ok…" he murmured soothingly as she rested her head on his shoulder again, still sobbing as he stroked her long blond hair to comfort her.

"It's Jim. He asked me to take his brother and sister back to the station so he could get a jumpstart on those photos for Perry…when I came home he was sitting in front of his laptop just staring at a picture of you in the middle of the street with an oxygen mask on your face. I don't know what it was in the picture he recognized but there was something about it that told him it was you—that you're Superman. He…he knows your secret now," she admitted to him, shamefully. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should've been more careful, I should've have lied to him, I should have said _something_, anything to cover up…"

"Hush now; there was nothing you could have done, just as there's nothing I could have done. He was bound to figure it out sooner or later, and we've all suspected that he's been on the verge of knowing for some time now. I know I should've told him myself before now, but I've been putting it off…wait, is that why he isn't here? I thought maybe he was just out when you called for me."

She nodded before turning her tear streaked cheek away from Clark's shoulder to look up into his face. "He just sat there, not moving, just staring at the screen…I tried not to confirm his suspicions but whatever the proof was, it was incontrovertible. He knows I lied to him, that we all lied to him to cover up your secret. All the pieces seemed to lock into place and he…he just lost it! He kept screaming, wondering how _I_ could keep a secret like this from him, keep a secret this big when we'd shared everything else; then he started to question my love for him, as well as question your friendship and Lois'—he went on and on about how these last ten years of his life were all full of lies. Jim just wouldn't stop yelling…I swear I've never seen him so mad before and it scared me half to death!!!"

She saw the angry glimmer of red in Clark's eyes and hastened to add, "I never thought he was going to hurt me, Clark; Jim would NEVER do that and you KNOW IT…it's just…just…when someone you love _THAT MUCH_ is shouting at you at the top of their lungs and questioning the life you've built together…well it terrified me."

He kept rubbing her back, trying to get her to relax a little in spite of the hellish day she'd just been through. "I know, Clo, I know…Lois and I went through the same thing when she found out."

She looked over at him with grief-stricken eyes. "But you haven't heard the worst of it yet! When he was done yelling, he grabbed his wallet and keys and left; he said he couldn't do it anymore and he _LEFT_! I kept waiting for him to come home, thinking he'd walk it off and come back so we could talk about it, but when he wasn't back by dinnertime, I started to get really worried. I'm sorry but I couldn't think of anyone else to call; I wouldn't even know how to begin to explain this to my Dad, or to Cheryl…oh God!"

He rubbed her back gently, trying to calm her down. "You did the right thing calling me. I'm sorry this had to happen the way it did and that you had to deal with the fall-out from _my_ secret alone. I know how hard it's been for you all these years, and especially these last two with Jim around. I should have told him myself…"

"No, you shouldn't have had to! Sure, we both know that there were times when his knowing would have made things easier, but if everyone you were close to knew your secret you'd have that many more people walking around with targets on their backs! You've said so yourself, you can't save everyone and if even more people knew…" She shuddered at the mental image of her best friend, crushed by the weight of so many unnecessary deaths because people tried to attack the superhero by exploiting the private life of the man . "Besides, those of us that do know—well, subconsciously we all must have had a vague idea of what we were getting into before you let us into your confidence, right?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Now who's trying to comfort who here?" That got a little laugh out of her and she wiped away some of her tears.

"I think…I think I'm just afraid that he's gone, that he's left me for good. I can't raise these babies on my own, I don't know how to, I can't!" Her eyes misted over with fresh tears at the prospect as she placed a protective hand over her burgeoning stomach.

"Hey now, you can do anything you set your mind to, alright? Besides, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that that doesn't happen. But you and I both know that Jim's not that kind of man; and even if he is gone, you and the babies aren't alone. You won't have to raise those two by yourself because you have me and Lois and so many other friends here in the City and back in Smallville who will help you every step of the way, no matter what, you got that? You're not alone, Chloe, and you never will be. Now do me a favor, ok? Take a few minutes to calm down, then try and get some rest while I go search for Jim and try to talk to him." She shot him a scared look. "Calmly and coolly, I will talk to him calmly and coolly, and see if we can't straighten this whole thing out. No _extraneous_ super-powers will be involved, I swear. Does that sound like an ok plan to you?"

She gave a little nod of her head and he stood slowly, bending down to give her a chaste kiss on the forehead before striding over to the open window and leaping out into the warm, night air. Not for the first time that day, Chloe was left alone with nothing but her tumultuous thoughts.

* * *

Clark scoured the City, eventually finding his friend downtown, pacing on the twelfth floor of an office building under construction. The site itself was supposed to have been secured for the evening—how Jim had gained admittance and got up there, he didn't know nor did he care to ask—and he landed gracefully a few feet away from where his friend was standing.

"I was wondering when my wife would send you after me," he said coldly, not bothering to turn around to face Clark as he heard the soft thud of boots touching down on the concrete. "How is she?"

Clark's fists clenched at his side at his friend's tone. "How is she?! She's got herself in near hysterics worrying about you, how the hell did you think she'd be after you just left her like that?!"

"Yeah, well as you can see I'm not so peachy keen myself." Jim turned around and finally took in the image of Clark Kent as Superman; it was a slap in the face to truly see the man before him for the first time. They stared one another down, an icy blue gaze crashing against a wall of cold, stony brown. Without warning, Jim let loose the rage that had been building up inside him all day and ran across the floor, raising his hands and pushing Clark square in the middle of his El-crested chest as he reached him; the tall man allowed himself to topple backward as though his balance had actually been upset. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO **ME**?!?? HOW COULD _**YOU**_?!?! You were my _**BEST FRIEND**_ and you _**LIED**_ to me!! I don't even know who you are anymore!!!" He kept pounding away on Clark's torso, his fists meeting nothing but unforgiving steel while the superhero stood there, taking the abuse without a word. "And what's worse is that you had Chloe and Lois lie to me too; how could you just stand there and let them do that?! I thought we were friends!!! Or was I just some measly human you liked having around, someone to amuse you while you waited for the next airliner to bench-press?! Was that it?!?!?"

Clark stared down at his friend impassively and waited for him to stop whaling on his chest. Jim finally gave up pounding on the impenetrable surface and took a step back, breathing heavily. "Go home to your wife, Jim. She's worried about you, and in her condition she doesn't need the added stress. We'll talk about this more when you've had a chance to calm down."

"_**NO**_, we will _**NOT**_ talk about this later, we'll talk about this **NOW**, _CLARK!!!_" he screamed, spitting the name out as if though hurt him to hear it. "But wait, that isn't really your name, is it? What was it again? _Kal-el_. No wonder you didn't want anyone to know about you: 'Hey Josh, this is my buddy _Kal-el_—you know, the ALIEN!' I bet you're a fucking riot at parties!"

Clark couldn't mask the hurt he felt, hearing the word 'alien' maliciously cross Jim's lips. "Please, stop. Just go home…"

"**NO, DAMMIT, YOU ARE GOING TO TALK TO ME!!!!! I WILL NOT STAND BY AND LET YOU MOCK ME ANY LONGER!!!!!**" Jim finally collapsed on the bottom rung of a nearby ladder, his face red and sweaty. He was shaking from his exertions so he placed his hands on his knees to try and steady himself and took several deep breaths to slow his racing heart. "This explains so much, oh so much, and I feel like such an ass…all of your quick exits from the bullpen; how you always happened to be at the scene of a story at _just_ the right time; why Chloe wanted you to take her to the airport every time she had to go back to Smallville; how you found me when I went undercover on the Ladykiller assignment—and my God, your _soul-searching trip_?!?! Your_ seven month disappearance_? You weren't really criss-crossing the globe or suffering from amnesia; you were crossing _galaxies_ and getting your ass kicked by Lex Luthor!!!!" Clark winced at the mention of the late-madman and the seven months of his life that had been stolen from him. Jim persisted, though he saw the pain in his companion's eyes. "What the hell, man?! I knew things were bad after you came back and I hoped you'd open up to me eventually; I wanted to help you but you could never bring yourself to tell me the whole truth and now I know why!!!"

At Jim's needling, Clark finally lost his considerable patience and let his anger get the better of him. "**OH YEAH**?! Well it hasn't been all fun and games over here either, Jimmy! I LIKED that you liked _ME_, Clark Kent; you didn't see through me like everyone else in the office, I wasn't invisible to you. Jim, you made my life here in the City more 'normal'! And do you really think that I took some sort of perverse _pleasure_ in lying to you every day? **I'VE WANTED TO TELL YOU A HUNDRED TIMES BUT I DON'T HAVE THAT LUXURY**!!!! You don't understand, you don't know the risks involved, not only to me, but to you, to Chloe, to Lois, to my Mom and _especially_ to my children!" he cried out wildly.

Jim looked over at the caped man as he paced the floor, his face pinched and hardened. "That's BULLSHIT! If you wanted to tell me, you'd have told me before now! Name _ONE_ time when you wanted to tell me who you REALLY ARE…**NAME **_**ONE**_!!!!"

Clark stopped abruptly mid-stride, and his voice was considerably softer when he spoke next. "It was shortly before Haley was born; you and I were working late in the bullpen…I guess I wasn't thinking and had rolled up my shirtsleeves. I normally wear the suit underneath my clothes during the day, but that day I'd left it at home and so you saw the scar on my arm," Clark carefully rolled back the blue spandex he wore now to reveal the pink line that was all that remained of his wound. "The scar Lex Luthor gave me while he and Nick Finneran held me captive. This one here came when Luthor told me his intentions for Lois and Jason after I was gone—now I'm reminded of that God-awful moment every time I look down at my bare arm. Do you know what he said when he marked me, Jim? He said he was going to _**KILL**_ my _**SON**_! I tried to strangle the bastard and that's when he cut me with a Kryptonite knife. Later on in the bullpen, when you asked me about how I got it, I wanted to tell you…you don't know how badly I wanted to tell you …"

"It's how I figured it out," Jim interrupted him quietly.

Clark's head snapped around to look at his friend. "Excuse me?"

"The fire, last night—when you collapsed on the street? Your suit was all torn up on account of the Kryptonite that I'm figuring must have been in the building. I was maybe fifteen, twenty feet away from you, taking your picture; I thought for sure I'd get a Pulitzer for that shot. Well, when I went to review the batch of photos this morning I came upon that one and saw the scar on Super— I mean, on _your_ arm, and I remembered that night at the bullpen. That's how I figured out who you _really were_." Both men stayed where they were, mulling privately over their own separate thoughts. "So why didn't you tell me then, if you wanted to?" he continued where Clark had left off.

"A small part of it was because I was being selfish—I _liked_ being an average, ordinary guy with you—but the larger reason why I held back was because of the risks involved in keeping this knowledge secret. You've had this information for what eight, maybe nine, hours? Up until now there were only _six_ other people on the entire PLANET who knew; if anyone even _suspected_ that Clark Kent masqueraded around as Superman then every low-life I'd ever locked up would come after every single one of the people I care about most, and they'd come after them _hard_. Jimmy, there are literally _hundreds of thousands_ of ruthless people out there looking for any way to make me pay and they wouldn't hesitate one second to use my family and friends as leverage to get to me; and I know that I'm not strong enough or fast enough to save all of you should this information ever come to light. Hell, look at what Luthor did when he discovered that Jason was my son, and _HE_ didn't even know who I was outside the cape! Look at what happened to me then!!!!!"

Jim contemplated this new information for several minutes while Clark stood by, waiting with bated breath for the next batch of questions or accusations to come flying at him. "I wish you'd told me," Jimmy said in a voice so low that only his ears could have heard it. "I wish I hadn't had to figure it out from my own damn photos, you know?! You've got all this power and all this strength and yet you couldn't even tell me to my face! You're a coward, you know that?!"

"I just told you, this information is dangerous; all my life I've kept it to as few people as possible."

"And yet you didn't hesitate to tell my wife, did you?!"

Clark glared at him momentarily before softening his gaze. "It was an accident, how Chloe found out. Back in Smallville, there was a girl…" He gave a wave of his hand as his voice trailed off. "Never mind, that doesn't matter, the point is that one day Chloe saw me catch a flying car as if it weighed nothing at all—and the worst part is that I didn't even know she was there. She kept the information to herself for the longest time, waiting patiently for me to open up to her. She nearly _died _before I finally told her the full truth…" Jimmy's head turned sharply towards Clark; he'd never known that Chloe had been in mortal danger before. "I had to use my powers in front of her in order to save her and the cat was out of the bag after that. But I was only nineteen then; I've been a hell of a lot more careful since."

"But you're not nineteen anymore, Clark! And yet you still made her keep this secret from me all this time! How could you do that to her, to us?! How?!" he pleaded with Clark, trying to find an explanation to cling to while his world crashed down around him.

"She didn't want you to know."

"**WHAT**?!?!"

"After my parents, Chloe was the only other person who knew about me—where I came from, what I could do—for a very long time. She understood why I had to keep my gifts a secret, why I had to play the part of the quiet klutz here in Metropolis so no one would catch on to my life outside the three-piece suit. Off and on we've debated over whether or not to tell you, but in the end it was _your wife_ that didn't want to burden you the way she's been burdened with this knowledge these last sixteen years."

Jim glared at his former friend. It was surreal to see Superman standing there before him, speaking and acting like the Clark Kent he thought he'd known these last ten years. "I don't believe you."

Clark folded his arms across his chest menacingly, growing tired of losing ground in the perpetual back and forth argument. "Fine, don't take my word for it—why don't you go home and ask her yourself?"

The young man's anger left him instantly and his shoulders sagged. "I can't."

"You can't or you won't?" Clark asked pointedly, not bothering to curb the spiteful tone to his voice.

Jim's jaw clenched at the man's tone, but instead of being greeted with another irate response, Clark watched as the photographer dropped his head further into his hands. "I can't, I can't go home, I can't…"

With a keen blue eye, he watched his friend's immense grief bubble through to the surface and he zipped over to Jim's side in an instant, placing an unsure but firm hand on the back of his shoulder. Jim didn't shrug him off, but he didn't exactly welcome the gesture either. "What do you mean you _can't_ go home?"

"I…" He looked up into Clark's blue eyes then and sighed sadly. "Earlier, when I was at the apartment and it all hit me, I…I was so _ANGRY_ at you, and I still am. I was angry at Chloe, too, but more so at you, only I took it out on her. I yelled at her, I screamed at her, I…I…I haven't lost my head like that since I was 15 years old! And then I grabbed my things and left…I just **WALKED OUT** on my _pregnant_ wife!" Jim re-buried his head in his hands and sobbed. "I have tried all these years to be a better man then my father was but when push came to shove, I showed my true colors and did exactly what he did; what makes it worse still is that I didn't even look back!

"I vowed long ago to never become like _him_, but I was just so blind with rage that I didn't even realize what I'd done until a few hours ago. And now? Now it's too late. I can't undo what I did to her, I can't take back what I said or the fact that I walked out—she deserves a better man then me, she and the babies both do. It's better for them all if I just stay gone."

"No," Clark said forcefully in his deep baritone voice.

He turned his tired brown eyes on the man standing next to him, searching the stoic, super-humanly face for an explanation.

"You're wrong, Jim—dead wrong. This moment—this moment NOW—_this _is where you make the decision to become either your father or your own man, do you understand? And if you're the kind of man I know you are, then I know you'll make the right choice." He paused to see if his words had any effect on the distraught young husband. "You love Chloe and she loves you—that's clear for anybody to see. If she didn't think you were man enough, if she didn't love you as much as she does, she wouldn't have called me to look for you…and that's the truth."

The young man shook his head still buried in his hands. "I'm not worthy of her…"

"Yes you are, Jimmy; you're worthy of her because she says you are." Those words sent him over the edge again, and he sucked in a deep breath before crying anew. Clark stood with him in the dark, skeletal shell of a building, helping his troubled friend as best he knew how, and hoping he'd ultimately make the right choice.


	47. Chapter 47

_**Metropolis**_**, July 10, 2010. **She heard the telltale click of the deadbolt sliding back just as she was turning off the living room light and preparing for bed. Her feet carried her swiftly to the entrance just as Jim walked in looking extremely tired and vexed; without waiting for an invitation, she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his chest, grateful to have him back again and in one piece. He didn't return the sentiment, nor did she care that he remained stiff and inflexible under her touch.

"I'm so glad you're home, I was so worried," she said, stepping back and taking a look into his emotionless face. "I take it you talked to Clark?"

He looked down at her curiously, and the tone of his voice chilled her to the core. "No, I didn't. I spoke with Superman." And with that he stalked off down the hall and into one of the guest bedrooms to re-inflate an air mattress left behind by his brother and sister.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim lay on his back across the hall and listened to Chloe sob as she lay in their bed, alone, but he didn't care. As concerned as he was for his wife and for their children she was carrying, Jim was still too stunned and hurt by her betrayal and her collusion with Lois and _him_ to be anything but cool toward her. The following day played out much the same; he gave Chloe the cold shoulder every time she tried to start up a conversation with him. By the time Monday morning rolled around, they went their separate ways to work without so much as a whisper passing between them.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, July 12, 2010. **"Jim's on his way up," Clark said as he leaned over his wife's shoulder and handed her some files.

She turned in her seat to face him. "How do you think this is going to play out?"

"Honestly?" he asked, eyebrows raised behind his thick lenses. "Not well."

The investigative duo hastened to return to their work at their separate desks in an effort to look busy as the elevator bell dinged, unleashing a flood of reporters into the bullpen. They each surreptitiously snuck a look up and over at Jim as he strode towards his workspace twenty feet away; in all that time, the young photographer never once acknowledged their presence.

"KENTS!!! OLSEN! MY OFFICE!!!" Perry barked from the doorway. Clark started at the sound and gathered his things while Lois calmly strode on ahead—it wasn't until they were both within the Chief's office that Jim gathered a pad of paper, pen and a thick manila folder from his briefcase before following them in.

"Ok now, I want more information on that fire Friday night. What the heck happened to Superman? We know that that guy at the precinct house was a decoy, so where did that Lieutenant take him afterward? Is he alright? Nobody's seen him out and about since the fire and I want our readers to know that he's a-ok. Now as far as the fire goes, was it arson or accidental? We know one person perished, so who was the victim? And what's the City doing to help the people who were left homeless? Is the landlord going to re-build? I want answers people, and I wanted them _yesterday_, so get on this!" He turned his hawk-eyed glare towards to the photographer. "Olsen, what's the status on those photos you took at the scene?"

He waved the file folder in his hands like a flag. "I've got them right here, Chief; any angle you could ever possibly want are in this folder. Even got a few of the Man of Steel himself—it's funny though, I never noticed how much he looked like a certain someone in the bullpen," he mocked, shooting daggers at Clark with his eyes. Lois gave their friend a stern look, ready to leap out of her chair and put him in a strangle hold if that's what it took to shut him up, while Clark gaped at his sullen friend, thoroughly shaken that Jim would attempt to 'out' him in such a fashion.

Perry remained oblivious. "Oh yeah, who?" he asked as he thumbed idly through the photos, missing the countenances of all three.

"Just someone…" As pissed as he was at his friends and the situation, Jim just couldn't bring himself to be blatantly malicious.

The Chief looked over at him sharply. "Olsen, it's Monday not the weekend, now get your head back in the game. You two," he said, looking at Lois and Clark, "I want a full write-up on the fire story as soon as humanly possible." Jimmy snorted in feigned amusement but remained otherwise quiet as Perry turned his glare on him. "And you, help them if they need it, otherwise you're working with Gil and Ralph. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir." Jim got up before anything else could be said and quit the room. Lois and Clark were about to follow when Perry called them back.

"Anything you care to tell me regarding what's going on with the three of you?"

"The three of us, Chief?" Lois asked innocently.

"Yes, the three of you. You two and Olsen are usually thick as thieves, and today he was acting like you weren't even in the same room. Care to clue me in as to why?"

Lois was about to respond when Clark put a large hand on her shoulder and said, "No Sir, it's between us and we'll resolve it as best we can, as soon as we can."

Perry glanced over the file folder at the tall Midwestern reporter with a peculiar look on his face, unused to such a forthright answer from this particular employee. "Well alright then—just don't let this go on too long and give the gossips something to talk about, ok? I need everyone working, not clucking their tongues like a bunch of hens…"

"We won't," Clark replied with a small shake of his head before holding the door for his wife and following her out of the room. Perry resumed his seat while continuing to examine Jim's photos.

* * *

"So, we know that someone in the building had a lot of Kryptonite on them—much more than any normal Joe-schmoe with nothing to fear _should_ have…" Lois announced from where she and her husband sat at her desk, pow-wowing. She nibbled on the end of her pencil aggressively as her thoughts swirled about in her head. "Which leads us to wonder exactly who it was and why they had it; we know that there was one fatality before Superman got there, so it could have been him or her…"

"Or it could have been any of the other 60+ occupants of the building who managed to get out safely," Clark interjected, staring straight at his wife as he spoke. "In which case, no one will talk to us: the dead person because they can't, and the neighbors because they won't. If someone had that much Kryptonite on them, they had it for good reason and I seriously doubt they're about to announce it to the press." He swiveled his head around to catch a look at Jim, who hurriedly resumed his work and tried to look busy once he was caught staring, "Or me."

"More like a 'no good reason'," Lois chimed in cheekily.

"I'll call Al and see if he's got an ID on the body yet, you see if you can talk to the arson investigator and find out what caused the blaze in the first place."

"Sure."

He scooted his chair back across the aisle to his own desk and picked up the phone, dialing Al's private line. "Henrickson."

"Hey Al, it's Clark." Then in a low voice, he added, "Thanks again for bailing me out on Friday."

Al let out an easy chuckle and Clark could hear the creak of his friend's old wooden chair as he settled back. "No problem, glad I could help…but something tells me this isn't just a 'thank you' call."

"I'm afraid not; listen, I was wondering if your people were able to ID the victim from Friday's fire yet?"

"We were, as a matter of fact. Hold on, let me grab that file." Clark heard him sifting through the various files of paperwork on his desk and the quiet cry of triumph when he located the sought-after coroner's report. "The victim's name was Kirk Fraser; he got out of Schuster Prison upstate about two months ago after spending two and a half years there on a drug charge: possession with intent to distribute. Says here it was his first offence, hence why he got out so early."

Clark scribbled all this information down into his notepad as the Lieutenant spoke. "What kind of drugs are we talking about here?"

Al flipped another page. "Marijuana mostly, and less than an ounce of crack; the usual stuff for drug runners in the Slums. Anything else you want to know?"

"Any chance you can give me the name of his Parole Officer?"

"The P.O. on this one was Don Porter. He's a good guy, I know him personally, and if Fraser wasn't on the straight and narrow he'd have known."

"Ok, that's good to know. Thanks a lot, Al, I really appreciate everything," he said, setting his pen on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

"I know you do—just like we appreciate everything _you_ do. Listen, I've got to get back to work so I'll catch you later, ok?"

"Alright, take care." He looked across the aisle to see if Lois was finished with her phone call, just as Jim was making his way toward them to head to the Chief's office. "Hey Jim, how's it go—…" Clark started to ask, but his friend ignored him and looked straight ahead. Lois had just hung up the phone and took notice of Jim's behavior, as did a few of the other reporters nearby.

"That's never good," she murmured under her breath so only her husband could hear. He glanced over at her and nodded in agreement.

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, Metropolis, July 13, 2010. **Clark strolled into the bullpen that afternoon, the only one in the entire office to be wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt and tie, with only his vest left un-buttoned in the sweltering heat. "Well I just got back from speaking to Don Porter, Kirk Fraser's parole officer."

"And?" Lois asked impatiently, hastening to his desk.

"Everything seemed to be on the up and up. He said his parolee had an apartment and a job as a stocker at a local market that an uncle had gotten for him; the guy checked in regularly and all of his drug tests were clean. By all appearances, Kirk had broken ties with his old life and was starting off fresh."

"Good thing you're not the be all and end all on Kirk Fraser," Lois retorted as she slipped off his desk and darted over to her workspace for her notepad and pen. "According to the arson investigators, the blaze was accidentally set; seems that Frazer had a few too many that night then lit up and fell asleep with the cigarette somewhere nearby. They found a busted glass bottle melted to the nightstand near the body and a neighborhood packie confirmed that he'd sold a large bottle of whiskey to a man matching Kirk's description earlier in the afternoon. The investigators ALSO found large traces of marijuana, cocaine and heroin in the bedroom closet, along with what the Techs think were several large bundles of bills before they were burnt to a crisp…no idea on how much Kirk had stashed away in there, but I'm betting it wasn't just pocket change."

Clark's face went wide as recognition dawned. "So he _was_ back in the drug trade then…"

"Only this time he was dealing from his apartment instead of the street corner," Lois finished. "It seems to me to be as good a reason as any to carry Kryptonite on you–it's a handy little insurance policy to have. You think his P.O. was in on it?"

He grimaced at her cynicism. "No. This much I know for sure: Kirk Fraser had Don Porter fooled, and that man is nobody's fool. He's one of the good guys, Lois, and he genuinely believed that his parolee had turned the corner."

"Ok then, maybe we need to approach this from a different angle, maybe…" but before she could finish her thought, her stomach rumbled ominously.

Chuckling, Clark stood and took her by the hand, pulling his wife to her feet. "Come on, let's go get you something to eat—you're no good to me hungry," he teased, leading her over to the elevators.

She smacked his hand lightly. "Hey now, I resent that!" Her stomach rumbled again.

"You sure?" he laughed.

"Fine…" They passed by their friend's desk and invited him along, acting as though nothing were wrong. "Hey Jim, do you want to come grab some lunch with us, talk about things?"

He just stared ahead at his screen and kept typing as if he hadn't heard them. Clark laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Do you want to come get some lunch with us, Jimmy?" he asked again, quietly. The young photographer shirked the hand off his shoulder without so much as a glance and resumed his research. "Ok then, another time." Lois and Clark moved off toward the elevator, both much more subdued.

* * *

Gil and Ralph's grating voices reached Clark's sensitive ears and followed him down into the lobby.

"Wow, looks like the shit's really hit the fan over there," Ralph remarked rather indelicately. Clark didn't have to use his powers to know that Ralph and Gil were huddled around the water cooler, probably openly staring at Jim.

Gil took a sip of his water. "No kidding. I wonder what the hell happened to put a guy like Jimmy in a funk like this. I've never seen him give the cold shoulder to _anybody_…"

"I know it's weird, isn't it? I keep expecting to see pigs fly by the window 'cause things are just so off around here…I wonder which one 'em pissed him off?"

"My money's on Lois, though I don't know _what_ she could have done to bring this about. Jim and Clark pretty much put up with whatever craziness she dishes out without complaint—until now, obviously."

Ralph hummed thoughtfully before letting out a contemplative sigh. "I don't know…something tells me by the way Jim's behaving that this may have been Clark's doing and not hers…"

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**July 14, 2010. **Despite the rising temperatures outside, an outright frost pervaded over the bullpen and it's prominently feuding members. No one knew just what had caused the rift among the three closest people on the _Daily Planet_ staff, only that it was there and that it seemed to be widening with each passing day. Theories and speculation abounded throughout the day as to what had caused Jim to treat Lois and Clark like walking ghosts, and the gossip rang out loudly in Clark's ears.

"So he's not talking to you either?" Clark asked quietly, the phone nestled between his shoulder and his ear.

He heard Chloe chew and swallow something on the other end of the line. "No and I don't know what else to do! I don't want to force the issue but I'm sick of him sleeping in the guest bedroom every night and acting as if I don't exist."

"I don't know what to tell you, Clo," he said, turning his gaze from his monitor to Jim's now-empty desk and wondering where he'd gone off to. "I mean, I've been on the receiving end of this a couple of times now, but it's different with each person…and it never gets any easier."

"I know, I know, I just wish that there was something I could do! I'd rather have him yelling at me 24/7 then not saying anything at all!"

"You don't really mean that."

"Clark, right now _anything_ is better than the silence, and I do mean anything."

He let loose a sigh, venting his frustration. "I understand. Hey, I have to go but I'll talk to you later, ok? Hopefully one of us will have come up with a solution by then."

"Alright, I'll go hold my breath until you do."

"_Chloe_…" He heard the click as she hung and slowly placed the handset in its cradle before turning to face Lois, who was staring off into space looking extremely perplexed. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

"I don't know—I can't put my finger on it…"

"Well if that isn't the catchphrase of our careers," he said sarcastically.

"Ha ha, very funny. I was just thinking about the story…"

"What about the story?"

"It's just…there's something…UGH, THIS IS HURTING MY BRAIN!!!" she cried out in frustration.

Jim glowered at the outburst as he returned from the restroom before hastening back to his work.

"There there, take a deep breath," Clark murmured, strolling behind her and rubbing the knots from her shoulders.

"This Kirk Fraser—he jumped back into his old life _pretty_ quickly after he got out, didn't he? Almost too quickly… Not to mention that his old life seemed to have gotten a whole lot better; he got that apartment awfully fast, and the amount and type of merchandise he had to offer seemed to have expanded... Something else about him, he just doesn't strike me as being the brightest bulb since he managed to get drunk and burn himself alive, yet he had presence of mind to have enough Kryptonite around on the _off chance_ that Superman would swoop in and catch him in the middle of a deal. What's the likelihood that that would have happened? Better yet, what—if anything—about this entire situation sounds right to you?"

"I see what you mean; there's just too many coincidences here for them to have all been _simply_ coincidences."

"Somebody else _had _to be pulling the strings."

"And supplying him with the drugs."

She looked up over her shoulder at him. "You're sure that Don Porter isn't on the take?"

He shot her a knowing look over the top of his glasses. "Lois, I'm positive."

"Good enough for me then. So who's looking out for Kirk Fraser?"

Clark strode back to his desk and flipped through his steno pad of notes. "Maybe his uncle?"

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, July 15, 2010. **"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Lois confided to her husband as they rode down in the elevator together after work. "Not only do I hate that Jim's angry with us—and with good reason too—but I miss working with him. We need him in this investigation, Clark—it's getting too big for the two of us to tackle alone."

"Don't you think I know that? It's tearing me up inside that he's this upset and I haven't a clue as to how to fix it; what's worse is that everyone in the bullpen _knows_ we're on the outs too—half of them think it's your fault while half of them think it's mine."

"Hey! Which half thinks it's my fault?" she cried indignantly.

He pulled off his glasses and pretended to clean them while giving her a pointed look. "You know I'm not going to tell you that."

"Well fine…" she mock-pouted. "But if I get any one of them for this year's Secret Santa I want you to let me know so I can give them their just due."

"Uh huh…so, back to the case at hand, Kirk Fraser and the drugs…"

Lois inhaled deeply and smiled. "Ahh yes, there's nothing I love more than starting AND ending my work day with talk of burnt dead men and illicit substances."

"Wise-acre," he muttered. "Were you able to get a more detailed copy of the tox screen analysis from the arson investigator's office?"

"SHIT! I knew I forgot something! I'm sorry, Clark, I was completely swamped and it slipped my mind. First thing tomorrow morning though, I swear."

"Ok, not a problem, I'm just following up on a hunch here, that's all."

They entered the stifling lobby together and made their way out onto the street. Lois looked up at her husband and marveled at how he didn't even break a sweat in long-sleeves and a tie in the 90 degree heat, while people all around him were melting into puddles on the sidewalk. "Care to let me in on that hunch of yours?"

Clark noticed how dewy her face was becoming and began subtly cooling her down with his breath as they rounded the corner. "Not until I see if it pans out or not—it could be nothing or it could be something, I just want to wait and see. By the way, I did some more background work on Kirk Fraser and his family today."

"And?"

"_Technically_ he had three uncles: two on his dad's side and one on his mom's. Legally though, he was put in the foster care system at age five because his mother died, his father was in prison and none of his other relatives were willing or able to take care of him. Kirk aged out of the system at eighteen and remained pretty well off the grid ever since until his arrest two and a half years ago. Whether he was in touch with any of his uncles or even aware of their existence is hard to say—I'll have to do some more digging tomorrow to be sure."

Lois shrugged her shoulders as they reached the front entrance of their apartment building and waited as her husband opened the door for her. "I guess I should be glad that we're making some in-roads in the investigation, but I'd be a lot happier if we could resolve this thing with Jimmy. I miss having him around."

"I miss having my friend around too," he murmured dolefully under his breath.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**July 16, 2010. **"If Kirk Fraser was in touch with any of his uncles, it was by telephone only, and I highly doubt that he even had that kind of contact with them, if at all," Clark announced triumphantly as he put the phone back on it's cradle.

"What makes you say that?" Lois piped up from her desk.

"Because one of his father's brothers is dead, the other is in jail up in New Hampshire, and his mother's only brother is in an institution upstate and has been for the last twenty years."

"That'sinteresting. Well then, unless the one from jail has been making deals with someone on the outside on behalf of his nephew, then I doubt those are the uncles his P.O. was talking about." Lois leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. A minute or two later, she added, "Maybe we're looking at this uncle thing too literally."

"Come again?"

"Clark, how many brothers do you have in your family?" She glanced over at her husband and was rewarded with a look that was pure Kent; his bewildered expression made her wish she had a camera to capture the moment—it was priceless.

Unsure of her line of questioning, he slipped uneasily into his bumbling office guise and replied, "L-Lois, you know I'm an only c-child."

"Right, and I have an unmarried sister, yet our children have how many uncles? Not every family member is biologically related—we of all people should know that! I think we should get a list of potential associates from the Slums who go by the alias 'Uncle'…at least it's a start." He simply nodded in agreement, amazed by his wife's reasoning, before returning to his computer to get started on gathering the new information.

Lois had also returned to her work before remembering the file he'd asked for the previous day. "Here's that toxicology report you wanted from the arson investigator's office. _Now_ will you clue me in as to why it was so important we get our hands on it?"

He was hesitant to even voice his theory aloud until he had some concrete evidence before him. As he took the file from her, he took the opportunity to tease his wife. "All in good time, my Lady, all in good time…" he flashed her a smile before checking the room to make sure he wasn't being watched. As had happened several times over the past few days, he caught Jim glancing in their direction with a scowl on his normally affable face, but the photographer quickly looked away and put on a disaffected air. When he was certain everyone else in the room's attention was elsewhere, Clark sped through the report until he found what he was looking for on page fourteen. "Aha! Lois, what do you see here?" he asked, handing the file back to her.

"The tox screen for the heroin sample found in Kirk Fraser's closet—what about it?"

"Look closer…" he whispered as he stretched across his desk for a separate file.

"Anomalous particulate found in sample of the hydrochloride salt 'diacetylmorphine hydrochloride'—unknown origin…NO!" she cried out, startled.

He waved the procured file before him. "Sounds like a certain other drug sample taken off the fifteen people who OD'd in the past couple of weeks, doesn't it?"

"Kirk Fraser must've been supplying them all with the bad heroin!"

Clark shrugged his shoulder noncommittally. "Maybe he was and maybe he wasn't, we'll never know for sure if he was supplying them all. What we do know is that he had some for sale and if _he_ had some then maybe other drug runners in the Slums had some…and _still _have some…" He let the thought trail off as she nodded her head in agreement, quickly following the connections being drawn between the two stories.

Cocking her head at an odd angle, Lois looked over at her husband and said, "This is getting to be a whole lot bigger then we first thought, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah…a _WHOLE_ lot bigger." The telephone rang on his desk and he hastened to answer it. "Good afternoon, Clark Kent, _Daily Planet_."

"Clark, it's Chloe; listen, I have an idea. You and Lois don't happen to have any plans for this evening, do you?"


	48. Chapter 48

_**Metropolis, **_**July 16, 2010. **Jim exited the _Daily Planet _building that Friday evening and stood on the sidewalk, arms outstretched, reveling in the slight breeze that had picked up outside. Everything about the week had been stifling: the weather, the bullpen…_my home_, he mused as he brought his arms back to his sides. He hailed a cab and hastened back to his apartment, anticipating a quick and quiet bite to eat, then maybe a relaxing shower and a good book. Chloe had stopped trying to get him to talk to her on Wednesday, whereas Lois and Clark had yet to give up. They'd left the bullpen around 5:30 that evening, an hour before he did, and their absence had given him a brief reprieve from the tense anger and cold indifference he'd worn like a mask since last Saturday. It had given him a chance to breathe.

He slid his key in the front door and entered the apartment to the sound of clinking dishes; as he rounded the corner, he saw the cause for all the commotion—Lois and Chloe were setting the table while Clark lifted containers of food out of two large brown bags and set them down on the counter.

"What the _HELL _are you doing here?!?!" he growled, his voice changing in pitch as the rage within him bubbled up at the sight of the three conspirators together.

"I would have told you that they were coming to dinner, only you weren't speaking to me," Chloe said pointedly as she went about setting the forks and knives down.

"Oh no, don't you DARE put this on me! You three are the ones who LIED TO MY FACE for years! That's it, I want you two out of my house, **NOW**!" he shouted, stepping forward and pointing to the door.

_Jim can be a very imposing figure when he wants to be,_ Clark thought as he watched his friend while showing no intention of leaving.

"We're not here to fight with you, Jimmy, we just want to talk, that's all," Lois explained, attempting to soothe him.

Clark stepped forward and unobtrusively placed himself between Jim and the women not only so that he could be face-to-face with him, but also to make himself feel a little bit easier about the situation should it _really_ explode; not that he expected Jim to get violent, but he knew from experience that you could never be too careful when emotions were running this high. "We just want to talk to you over a friendly meal, nothing more. If after an hour you still want us gone, we'll go, end of story."

The photographer's eyes narrowed into menacing slits as he looked up into the taller man's face. Clark stood in front of the kitchen table in a t-shirt and shorts, not having bothered with the pretense of wearing his glasses, and now drew himself up to his full 6'4" height—still, Jim didn't back down.

"Fine," he conceded through clench teeth. "Your sixty minutes start now." He strode over to the egg timer next to the stove and twisted it on before turning down the hallway toward the bedroom to change, grabbing a beer out of the fridge on his way. The remaining three friends exchanged nervous glances as they continued about their work.

"I still don't think it's right to ambush him like this," Clark chimed in as he zipped back to the counter and unloaded the rest of the food, no longer worrying about hiding his powers.

Chloe stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. "Well I don't see any other way, and if it takes rattling his cage to get him to feel or think or say something, then I'm _going_ to rattle his cage!"

"I'm with her on this one," Lois added, inclining her head towards her friend, her ponytail swishing behind her. "I know you're all about the non-confrontation when you can help it, Clark, but he's been like this for a week; it's gone on long enough. Now let's just hope we can talk him out of his rage in an hour…" she stole a glance at the egg timer as it ticked away, "…or less."

"It's a good thing I've had a hand in several hostage negotiations before," he stage-whispered as he went about his work.

Lois and Chloe turned their head's sharply in his direction. "_CLARK_!"

"What?! It was a joke!!!" Just then Jim re-entered the kitchen, wearing cargo shorts, sneakers and a white Metropolis Meteors jersey and depositing the empty can on the counter. He stopped and pulled a second beer out without offering one to his guests, then popped the top off, taking a long drawn-out gulp as he studied them moving easily about his home. The trio appeared to ignore the vast tension that filled the air as they went about their work.

Chloe strode over towards her friends, and in a falsely cheerful tone asked, "So, what's on the menu for tonight?"

"Oh just some chicken parmesan from Little Italy," Clark remarked. They heard Jim splutter on his beer in surprise, and Clark hastened to add, "It's a new restaurant that just opened up a couple blocks away from our place. They make a great pizza, not to mention their meatball subs…mmm…" His mind trailed off as he dwelt on the delicious food.

"You're as bad as Jason, you know that?" Lois teased, coming over and kissing him on the cheek as she helped transfer the food from the counter to the table. "My claim to fame: two boys whose stomachs actually are bottomless pits." Jim followed several steps behind, and took his seat beside Chloe without a word.

Clark held out Lois' chair for her and kissed her impertinently on the head as he took his own seat. "Well you know what they say, like father, like son."

"So he is yours then? Jason, I mean; he's really your son?" Jim asked, rather indelicately. Lois and Clark shared a look, glad to get some sort of response from him, even if it was still a far cry from Jim's typical behavior.

"Yes, Jason really is my son—mine and Lois'."

The photographer nodded and doled out a bit of salad for himself. "Does he have your powers?"

Clark finished munching on his garlic bread before answering, while Lois and Chloe looked across the table at one another nervously, Jim's attitude putting them all on edge. "He has some of my powers, yes. He's as fast as the wind and he's got the 'super' breath, not to mention a bit of the strength. He's not as strong as I am but we believe he will be someday—but right now, all we know for sure is that he's a heck of a lot stronger then your average eight year old." Unprompted, he added, "We really have no way of knowing what's in store for Jason in terms of his abilities. Only time will tell if he'll be able to do all the things I can do."

"And Haley?"

He shook his head. "She's only sixteen months old, Jim; Jason's abilities didn't kick in until he was closer to five."

Jim took another bite of the Caesar salad heaped on his plate before resuming his interrogation. "What about you, were you always able to do…you know?"

Clark shook his head and took a sip of his soda. "No. When my parents first found me near my ship they discovered that I was plenty strong, but that was pretty much it. Most of my other powers didn't kick in until I was in my teens—Mom and I suspect it had something to do with my body adjusting to Earth's environment."

"So the Kents knew you were an alien then," Jim remarked coldly. Clark visibly flinched at the word and both women turned in shock at the photographer. "And here I was beginning to wonder if you'd hired some sweet little old lady from Kansas to parade about as your mother just to further your disguise," he added cruelly.

"Jim, don't…" Chloe said, not bothering to mask the hurt and sadness in her voice.

"Don't _WHAT_?! That's what he is, he's an ALIEN! You come from another planet that's not Earth, you're called an ALIEN!" Lois looked over at her husband each time Jim uttered the epithet, watching how it twisted him up inside, while only a slight outward frown betrayed his displeasure after his initial shock.

"Clark is _Kryptonian_," Lois stressed slowly, taking her husband's hand in hers under the table. "But he's lived here the last thirty-odd years of his life and is more human than most. Martha Kent _is_ his mother, just as Jonathan Kent _was_ his father. I know you're angry, Jim, and that you want to hurt us, all of us, but please don't use that word again."

Clark listened as Jim's heart rate spiked in anger, as he sat across the table watching his friend seethe with rage, but the young man never once made any motion that he'd heard or would comply with Lois' simple request. Instead he stared straight at her and asked, "You didn't always know about Jason, did you? I mean about his…_parentage_."

"JIM!" Chloe spat out at him as Lois blushed and looked down at her plate shamefully. Clark also grew red-faced with guilt for having left Lois pregnant and alone for all those years with no knowledge of how it had happened, and he looked away at the wall behind Jim's head.

"No," she confessed meekly. "I didn't. It wasn't until…" She glanced over at Clark who was now staring back at her with tender eyes. "It wasn't until after the incident with Lex Luthor on the Gertrude that I knew for sure. Jason threw a baby grand at one of the goons who tried to kill me; my baby just up and hurled a _piano_ clear across the room as if it weighed nothing at all. I always thought that maybe he was..." again, she looked over at Clark and stroked his arm lovingly, conveying to her husband that she had forgiven him long ago, "But it wasn't until that day that I knew for sure."

"How is that possible? You went to bed with Superman and didn't know he was masquerading around as Clark Kent? I bet Perry would've loved that headline—'I Had a One Night Stand with Superman'…"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Clark shouted, banging his free hand against the kitchen table and sending the silverware rattling. "Look Jim, I'm trying to take this all on the chin here, but I _won't_ sit around and let you INSULT MY WIFE!!!"

Jim's chair scraped back as he stood up to them all, screaming, "AND WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT, HUH?!?!?!? HUH!!!?? You've insulted my intelligence for _YEARS_; I'm only returning the FAVOR!!!" Jim stared him down a moment longer before abruptly pushing back from the table and stalking off toward the front door; Clark sped from his seat to intercept him.

"You owe us forty more minutes," he announced as calmly as he could manage in his lower octave voice, arms crossed in front of his broad chest as he blocked his friend's path.

The photographer fairly growled. "You can't be serious…" The pair glowered at one another, neither one backing down.

Lois broke the stalemate from her seat. "I did know, once—that's when Jason was conceived. But then there was this whole other chain of events that came shortly thereafter, what with those three Kryptonian criminals wreaking havoc on the world and I…I…I wasn't strong enough back then." This small admission of weakness from the mouth of the indomitable Lois Lane-Kent caused Jimmy to turn around and stare at her in disbelief. "When it was all over, when they were gone, I couldn't bear to go back to sharing him with the world."

"And I couldn't stand to see you in so much pain," her husband replied, momentarily forgetting about Jim and zipping back to Lois' side; reaching out, he lovingly tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear. "So I made her forget about us and I went on a fool's journey to Krypton to try and forget about her…"

"Nine months later Jason came along," she finished for him as he carefully resumed his seat.

Jim moved back to the table as well and instantly became more apologetic. "Wow, I…Lois, I had no idea. I wish I knew, I would have helped more, I would have done something…"

"But you did do something, Jim! Not only were you my co-worker but you were also my friend! You looked out for Jason when I had to bring him into the bullpen, you never treated him like he was a nuisance, and you always put up with me when I was flying off the handle over something or other; besides, like we just told you, I didn't know he was _Clark's_ son in those days either. But you _were_ there and you did _do_ something, and I am so grateful for all that you did then and for all that you've done now, for both our children."

He nodded and bit his lower lip, his resentment towards Lois abating as the entirety of that portion of the story finally came out. Clark drew his arm around Lois' shoulder as he watched the tears well up in her eyes, but the simple gesture only served to remind Jim of the man's presence and of his immense anger toward him. Turning his attention back to Lois, he asked, "So when did you find out about _him_ again?"

She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve and composed herself as best she could while ignoring the slight he made about Clark. "About two weeks before Lex Luthor and Nick Finneran kidnapped him. We were at a ball game; that's when the truth came out for the second time."

"A ball game?" he asked incredulously, watching Chloe grin out of the corner of his eye.

"Let's just say I was a bit distracted and a baseball side-swiped me," Clark answered, pulling a pair of glasses from his pocket and twirling them around in his hands before setting them on the table. "If Andrew Ketter hadn't been gunning to hit the ball out of the park that day who knows how long I'd have kept the charade up? The glasses are a rather flimsy disguise, in more ways then one, and when these babies shattered the jig was up. She knew."

"And I was furious too," Lois hastened to add in an attempt to empathize with Jim more. "We didn't reconcile until two days before he was taken."

Jim focused on Clark once again as talk turned to his imprisonment. "There never was an informant on the docks, was there?"

He shook his head as the memories of that horrible day flashed to the forefront of his mind. "No. I heard Jason in trouble at the schoolyard that day and that was all I needed to know to come running; but I had no way of knowing everything else that would follow after."

Clark watched an emotion flit briefly across Jim's face—_What was it? Sympathy? Surprise?_—before the angry mask was back in place. "So I spent seven months of my life worrying about my missing best friend while everyone else fretted over the fate of a hero, and no one was going to tell me that they were one and the same?! What if you'd _DIED_ out there?!?!? Do you have ANY IDEA how _cruel_ that is, to never know the truth about something like that?! To leave me wondering for years on end just what the hell happened to you?!"

"Best friend?" Clark asked slowly, daring to let his voice carry the smallest bit of hope.

"_Former_ best friend," Jim replied coolly, shooting him down and gnashing the food in his mouth simultaneously.

Lois interceded. "Jimmy, Lt. Henrickson and Special Agent Woodrow were with me every step of the way while we were searching for Superman, and even they didn't know he was really Clark Kent until we had to bring him back to Smallville. I said this to them then and I'll say it to you now, if Clark had been able to walk out of that bunker under his own power I _still _would have kept his secret from them, and they were the two members of the Task Force who helped him the most. As it was, they didn't know where we were going or why until they turned down the driveway to the farm and Martha came running from the front porch, crying."

Clark cringed at the image of his mother in pain. "Really, that's how they found out? You never told me that part."

"Yes," she confessed sheepishly. "They were pretty confused for awhile too. But I didn't know where else to take you or what else to do!" Her hands twisted the napkin in her lap as the memories came flooding back, serving to make her a little hysterical even two and a half years later.

"It's ok—it's over now, it's ok…" Clark said soothingly before turning his attention back to Jim. "This information…Jim, there _is_ no easy way to let someone in on who I am. Al and Clarissa were accidents; Chloe was too, and she knows better then most what this knowledge does to people's lives."

Chloe, who had remained conspicuously silent during the last twenty-five minutes, turned beet red as all eyes were suddenly on her. Slowly, she looked up from her dinner plate and over at her husband's hardened face. With a flip of her hand, she said, "Fire away."

"How long have you known the full story?" Jim asked her point blank.

"Officially? Sixteen years. But I began to suspect something was up about a year or so before Clark told me himself."

His fork stopped, poised mid-way to his mouth. "What do you mean, 'suspect something'? Who _suspects_ that their friend is an ali—…I mean, that their friend is _something else _for a full year and doesn't say anything about it?"

"You didn't know him back then! No offense, Clark, but you alone were more awkward then half the guys in Smallville high combined, and I never could figure out why until the day I saw you catch that car. Jim, for the first time in my life I was completely flabbergasted by what I saw—I wouldn't have known what to say to him about it if I tried—so I simply kept my mouth shut. I knew Clark well enough by then to know that there had to be a plausible explanation for everything so I bided my time until he saw fit to tell me himself; the only problem was that he didn't.

"It wasn't that Clark didn't trust me, Jim, it was that he had never even considered trusting anyone outside the family before. All three Kents were unsure of how others would react to the news if and when they learned just where Clark had been adopted _from_. Would people call the authorities and turn him over to the government to be experimented on? Would they be forever shunned by the community for taking in a boy from another planet? Would people blackmail them and exploit Clark's abilities for their own gain? And so, when it all came out, I became the litmus test for the exposure of the Kent family's greatest secret."

She paused to take a sip of her water before carrying on, sharing her feelings and recollections of that fateful day for the first time in her life. "A large part of me was frightened by the explanation—one of my best friends who _looked_ like a man and _acted_ like a man was born in a whole other _galaxy_? That's the kind of tale spun in science-fiction novels, not something that occurs in a farm town in Kansas; but then I let the truth sink in and I took a real good look at him.

"Regardless of where he came from or what he could do, he was still Clark; still a reporter with me at the _Torch_, still playing hoops in his backyard, still helping out his family with chores, and still putting everyone else's needs before his own—in the blink of an eye everything and yet nothing about him had changed. I accepted him unconditionally for who he is and because of that he was able to finally relax and be himself…and eventually let other people in."

"Seeing her reaction to the news and how closely she guarded my secret afterward let me know that I wasn't a freak and that I could have the 'normal' life I so desperately craved," Clark added. He turned to face Lois, his hand cupping her cheek as he spoke. She brought her hand up against his and held it there, staring back at him lovingly, knowing the weight of responsibility she and the kids brought upon his shoulders even as they tried by their very existence and presence in his life to lift the burden.

Jim pondered their words a moment. "But why couldn't you give _me_ the chance to accept you, like you gave Chloe and Lois?" He paused to steady himself, not bothering to hide the hurt that lingered about him since the impromptu revelation. "Why didn't you trust _me_?"

"It's not that simple," Lois chimed in. "You need to understand…"

"Superman is a symbol of hope," Clark began, his voice dropping to a deep baritone while he threw back his shoulders. "He leads by example and is proof of all the good that the world is capable of. He doesn't have the luxury of having weaknesses; everyone in the world knows he's invulnerable." He clasped a hand over his heart, the register of his voice rising ever so slightly. "Me, I have friends—I have a _family_—that I need to protect from the evil that still exists. I can't be one without the other, and yet everyday I have to make a conscientious distinction between the two personas; were I to be exposed, everything in my life would unravel in the blink of an eye. Everyone I know and love would be put in danger, so I've always made the decision to keep this knowledge to as few people as possible. The fewer people who know the safer everyone is, including you."

Chloe nodded. "Do you see, Jim? Nothing's changed…Superman is what he can_ do_ but Clark is _who he is_. He's still the same person, whether you knew about his origins or not."

Jim took another long sip of his beer, leaving everyone at the table still feeling uneasy about where they stood with him. He set the can back down on the table with an empty thud and leaned forward on his elbows, hands clasped together before his face, and let loose a sigh. "I still wish…" He looked up into the other man's face. "I still wish you'd told me yourself, Clark. I can respect your decisions and I can't say that I would have behaved any differently were our situations reversed, but that doesn't mean I'm still not angry and hurt for having discovered the truth the way I did. Can you understand that?"

Clark stared at his friend and colleague, a flicker of hope rekindling within him; Jim had called him by his given name for the first time in a week. "Yes," he said with a nod of his head. "Yes I can."

"Good." The timer went off in the kitchen and all four turned in the direction of its obnoxious beeping.

"I guess it's time for us to go." The tall Midwesterner pulled back his chair and placed his napkin on the table, reaching out for his wife's hand.

"I didn't…I mean," Jim swallowed down his lingering bitterness, "You don't _have_ to leave just yet if you don't want to. I mean, you're free to go if the babysitter's waiting or something…"

"Actually Martha's watching the kids tonight," Lois announced matter-of-factly mid-way between sitting and standing.

The poor young man's jaw dropped. "But doesn't she live out in Kansas?"

Clark ran a hand nervously up the back of his head, mussing his thick dark hair. "Um, yeah…one of the benefits of free flight, I guess; trips to Grandma's house are only ten minutes each way."

"Now that right there, _that_ is going to mess with my head for a _really_ long time…"

* * *

There was a definite thaw by the end of dinner and, while not all of the wrongs had been righted by the end of dessert, the friendship between the foursome was undeniably on the mend; all were finally free from the dark cloud of tension that had hovered over their heads the past seven days. Jim continually struggled in the intervening days to put certain facts together in his mind, a feat which he was still trying to accomplish when the trio returned to the office on Monday.

"How _did_ you learn about our visit to Chloe's Mom?" he blurted out when he and the Kents were riding up in the elevator together. "Was that a bit of investigative work on your part or was it a bit of _you know_?" He tugged at his ear lobe for emphasis.

Clark was on the verge of replying when the doors opened up into the elevator bay and the sight of their boss pacing the well-polished floors stopped them in their tracks. Perry looked up expectantly.

"Good, you three, come with me."

"But Chief, we…" Lois whined.

He shot her a look. "_Now_."

They strode single-file through the bullpen and, while it was still early, a good number of reporters watched with great interest at this latest development among their favorite subjects of gossip. The foursome ignored their colleagues' inquisitive gazes and entered Perry's office without a word.

The Chief assumed his seat as Clark shut the door and he waited until everyone was seated before launching into his tirade. "Ok now, I don't know what the hell is going on and before you try cluing me in, I'm telling you that I don't give a damn. All I know is that whatever happened is affecting your work and the work of everybody else on this floor and it ends _**RIGHT NOW**_, do you understand me?"

"But Chief, we…" Jim tried in the same wheedling tone Lois used a moment earlier.

"Olsen, I'm not through. I don't care who started it, I'm ending it, and you're all to maintain a professional demeanor in this building. You can give the cold shoulder or tear each other to pieces out on the sidewalk for all I care, just so long as you keep it outside—I _will not_ stand by and watch the _Messenger's_ circulation rise simply because you three couldn't get your act together and it ruined the quality of this newspaper, do you understand?"

Clark smoothed out his tie, glancing over at his wife and friend before turning his attention back to his boss. "Perry, what we've been trying to tell you is that we worked things out over the weekend—everything's fine now." His cohorts nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Really? Oh, well, ok then…tell me, where are we on the dead drug runner from the fire in the Slums? I heard you had some interesting developments late last week…"

Five minutes later, the trio re-emerged from the Editor-in-Chief's office none the worse for wear. "Finally…" Jim muttered as they crossed the threshold. "I thought we'd never get out of there—how come he always listens to you?" he asked, turning his attention to Clark.

The toe of the reporter's shoe caught on the carpet and he struggled to regain his balance. "Gee, um, I don't know…"

"Must be all that Farm Boy charm," Lois snickered as she strode ahead to her desk, never once giving the gossips any new fodder. "Ok now boys, we really need to buckle down and zero in on this heroin Kirk Fraser was dealing from the Slums."


	49. Chapter 49

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own "The Usual Suspects" or any characters therein.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**July 30, 2010. **Leroy read and re-read the latest Lane-Kent and Kent front page byline in the _Daily Planet_ about the rising death toll from lethally-dosed heroin until his fury got the better of him and he wadded the page into a tight little ball and hurled it across the room.

_Damn Parker…Damn Parker and his friends in the Middle East and their defective product!!! They must have known it was laced and that's why they were looking for a buyer so quickly—DAMN HIM!!!!!_

_No, _he reasoned, _it isn't entirely his fault; if I hadn't sent him over there and given him the go ahead, he never would have bought it. I should have __known__ it was too good to be true—$5,000 less than the original asking price?!? I'm getting greedy and sloppy in my old age…_

He turned to study the paperwork before him; at least four crates had been opened and mixed in with what heroin reserves they already had, making the new product indistinguishable from the old. Leroy had the foresight enough to have the unopened crates burned, opting to cut his losses rather then actively thin out his herd of clientele—_After all, a dead user is no good to me, my company, and our bottom line_.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**August 4, 2010. **As the new month dawned, Lois, Clark and Jimmy had little to show for the hours they'd put into the Kirk Fraser investigation save for a tree graph littered with numerous question marks and a lot of interviews with Kirk's neighbors that all told the same story: he kept to himself and never seemed to get out of the apartment much. Even the record of his brief incarceration shed little light on the man whose Kryptonite stash crippled Superman and nearly threatened to burn down the entirety of the Slums.

There had also been five more deaths related to the bad heroin in the intervening time; the youngest of the victims being sixteen year old Mary Elizabeth Isham. It deeply saddened both reporters to see someone cut down so young, and having to question her grieving parents tugged at their hearts; the interview also produced no new clues in the case, as the parents had been oblivious to their daughter's drug use. Superman could only sit on the sidelines and watch helplessly as the body count piled up, while Clark Kent used his journalistic voice as best he could to reach out to the masses to try and keep unsuspecting users out of the morgue.

Prior to leaving for Connecticut for the birth of Jenny's baby, Jim was able to compile a small list of known criminals who went by the nickname of Uncle, or some derivative thereof; very few were still alive and living in Metropolis, and none appeared to be affiliated with the drug trade in any way, shape or form. Frustrated by yet another dead end, Clark snatched up his phone and dialed Al's number once again.

"Henrickson."

"Hey Al, it's Clark."

"Oh no. So, where do I need to pick you up this time? Please tell me it isn't somewhere in Gotham or something…I can only do so much you know!" the grizzled, middle-aged Lieutenant quipped semi-jokingly into the phone.

Clark let out a hearty laugh that echoed throughout the bullpen. "No, no, I'm not stranded anywhere, just stuck on a story and I thought I'd call and see if you could help shed any light on the subject."

"Sure, sure, whatever you need; you know, if it's not one thing with you, it's always another," he chuckled. "So what seems to be the problem?"

"Lois and I are looking into these heroin deaths and how they're connected to last month's fire in the Slums. The common thread appears to be the dead man, Kirk Fraser, but we don't think he's the one directing the incoming drug traffic. It's apparent that there's something a lot larger going on, only we've hit a wall in our search for Kirk's mysterious uncle that his P.O. told us about. Don Porter doesn't know who he was, our search into the decedent's family turned up nothing useful, and so I was wondering if you or anyone in your department might know anything that could help us."

* * *

Al sat back in his wooden chair and contemplated the question a moment. He knew of a man who'd gone by the name 'Uncle Sherman' several years ago; he'd been the mastermind behind several jewelry store heists, one of them fatal, but was caught and convicted and Al knew for a fact that the man was still in Schuster Prison with fifteen years left on his sentence. A quick scan of Metropolis' Top Most Wanted on the computer turned up no one with the obvious alias of Uncle either. He leaned forward into his chair. "You know what, let me do a little more digging around in the archives and I'll get back to you, ok?"

"Thanks Al, I appr—…"

He cut him off. "You appreciate it, I know, I know! And when I have some more vacation time coming to me, I'd appreciate a free flight to Cancun."

"That's always the first power they exploit," Clark grumbled in a low teasing voice as he hung up the phone and Al had a good laugh at his friend's expense.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**August 9, 2010, 10:47 am. **Jimmy sat perched on the edge of Clark's desk after the morning meeting, showing off pictures of his new nephew, born the previous Thursday.

"They named him Owen, Owen Brian Colby, and he was born at 6:13 in the morning. He was smaller then Haley though, at 7 pounds 11 ounces, but the doctors said that that was still healthy." He flipped through the stack to another photo. "Ha ha ha, this one is just too funny. He's a couple hours old here and he was being passed around from family member to family member, not making a peep the whole time; finally, it's Chloe's turn to hold him, and little Owen just starts BAWLING the minute he's placed in her arms…I mean, it was ear-splitting! As soon as he made it back to Jenny, he just went all quiet. It pissed Chloe off something awful but it was just too funny…"

"Just wait until it's your own little one doing the screaming and see if it's so funny then," Clark said, recalling the nights when Haley would wake up screeching as if to simultaneously test her super-powered lungs _and_ her father's patience. The headaches he'd gotten from trying to soothe his little girl were just a memory now but it was moments like those that made him wish his biological parents had given him the formula for Kryptonian aspirin.

Lois nodded as she looked up from the photographs, smirking. "And you've got double the trouble coming your way too. Good luck with that."

Just then the elevator doors opened and a courier with a large box caught their attention as he strode purposefully through the chaos of the bullpen and straight toward Lois. All three followed the brown-uniformed man's progress until he reached her desk, plopping the package on top of her filing cabinet with a dramatic thud.

"Sign here please, Ma'am."

Lois looked up at him quizzically and took the electronic pen and notepad from him. There wasn't anything assuming about him—he appeared to be about Jimmy's height with jet black hair sticking out from under the cap pulled low over his brow—but it was the way his eyes kept shifting around, meticulously taking in his surroundings, that put her on high alert. With a quirked eyebrow she casually glanced over at Clark and saw that he was equally suspicious.

Stalling, she pointed to the screen on the notepad. "Right here?"

"No Ma'am, right here," he intoned drolly, pointing to the correct line. No sooner had she crossed her last T then he scooped it right back up from her, making his way with swift, purposeful steps back to the elevator.

"Hey, what happened to Harry?" Clark called out, rising from his seat to follow after him.

Without missing a beat, the courier replied, "He's taking a sick day." The elevator doors opened up before him and a flood of people came out, leaving the courier free to step in and ride down alone back to the lobby.

"Not very friendly, was he?" Jim asked, getting up to examine the package. Turning to Clark, he added, "And who's Harry?"

"That's the point, Jim," Lois remarked, also standing up and moving toward the box on her filing cabinet. "There is no Harry. Clark was testing him."

"Oh."

Clark was about to respond when Perry White burst out of his office, shouting "STOP! Don't touch that! Leave it right there!" All commotion in the bullpen ceased and all eyes followed the Editor-in-Chief as he hustled over to the reporters' desks. "And you people call yourselves investigative journalists…doesn't anybody check their memos around here?!? New security measures were implemented _four months ago_—we no longer allow couriers on the floor! All packages have to be signed in at the front desk and checked by _Daily Planet_ security personnel before being delivered; your courier obviously never went through the check-in." He gesticulated wildly at the box as he continued, "For all we know this could be a bomb."

The room collectively inhaled in fear, and Clark could hear more than a few people quietly making their way to the stairwell before the all out rush.

As if reading their minds, the Chief cried out, "No need to panic people, no need to panic! Now, I want _all_ of you to file out and down the stairs in an orderly fashion, none of this stampeding like elephants business. I'll call security and…"

While Perry spoke, Lois and Jim watched as Clark lowered his glasses to the bridge of his nose, surreptitiously x-raying the contents of the package. They exhaled in relief when they saw him push the glasses back up again, then take a step forward to open the up box…

* * *

Perry watched in horror as the more sensible half of his reporting duo stepped forward to lift the cover off the box. "KENT, NO!!!" he screamed, ducking for cover with the phone still in his hand while everyone else in the room followed suit. To his surprise they were all still alive a moment later and the young man was rummaging through papers and file folders with great interest.

"WHAT IN THE SAM HILL DID I JUST SAY ABOUT CALLING IN SECURITY?!?!" the Chief shouted, straightening up again, his face red with anger. "And how did you know that that wasn't a bomb!??! We all could've been KILLED!"

"I, uh…that is…I…" Clark stuttered.

Olsen quickly rushed in to his friend's defense. "It wasn't ticking, right Clark? Lois and I didn't hear it ticking either. So you see, Chief, it couldn't have been a bomb; no timing device. Isn't that right?" The photographer turned to Lois for confirmation and she eagerly nodded her head in agreement.

"He's right, Chief. No timer, no bomb."

* * *

Lois prayed that Perry's disinterest in all things technological would help them pass thE flimsy lie off as a truth. She continued to vigorously nod her head while eying her Editor-in-Chief to see if he was about to call their bluff when he mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite catch; then, turning to all three of them with a critical eye, he said, "Ok…but don't you EVER think about pulling such a _BONEHEADED _move in my bullpen again, Kent, you hear me?!?!"

She watched her husband out of the corner of her eye; it was all Clark could do to nod in ready agreement at his boss while getting chewed out in the middle of the floor. "Alright then." Turning to the rest of his employees, Perry added, "Show's over everyone, now get back to work! And Barbara, get me a refill!" He stormed back to his office and slammed the door shut, drawing the shades tight behind him for some privacy and, for what Lois could only assume, was a chance to recover from his 'near-brush' with death.

Smacking her husband on the arm as he proceeded to empty out the contents of the box, she hissed, "What did you think you were _doing_?! And in front of the whole bullpen, no less! Really, Clark? Really?!"

He stopped and gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry…I was just trying to save security the trouble."

Jim stepped forward and put a hand on each of their backs. "Hey, you two? Uh, how about we take this into the conference room and uh, spread out?" _And discuss this a little more privately,_ he added with a glance.

Lois agreed and picked up what files she could as well as the box cover before following the boys to the conference room. The caravan had trudged halfway across the bullpen when Ralph called her back.

"Hey Lois, you dropped something!" He leaned over in his desk chair to pick the plain white envelope up off the ground and hand it back to her, his phone glued to his ear the entire time.

"Thanks." She studied it closely, wondering briefly which of the folders it might have fallen out of, before plopping it on top of her pile and pinning it under her thumb.

Clark heaved the box onto the tabletop with a thud and the doors were no sooner shut behind them then he immersed himself fully into the mounds of data. "Well somebody out there likes us," he mused aloud as he thumbed through a file. "Anything and everything we've ever wanted to know about a man named Uncle involved in the drug trade of the East Side Slums—the only things missing are his name and address."

His wife let loose a genuine laugh. "Like it would ever be that simple." She tore open the end of the envelope Ralph had handed to her and read the letter inside. "Guys, hold up a sec and listen to this; I think this was taped to the inside of the lid. 'Dear Mr. Kent and Mrs. Lane-Kent, It has recently come to my attention that you have been researching an 'Uncle' with ties to the East Side; included in this package are any and all copies of information in my possession pertaining to said suspect. The investigation into this individual was officially closed in January of 2007; however, you will find several files and notes dated as recently as March of this year. Be aware that this suspect is an extremely dangerous individual who poses a threat to every one of Metropolis' citizens and that this threat level grows with each passing day whether City officials wish to acknowledge it or not. Here's to hoping that you get further in your search than I have been able to these last thirteen years. Sincerely, Anonymous'." Lois thought that over a bit before opening her sarcastic mouth, "You're not that anonymous, you Dope; half these documents have the FBI seal on them and you printed this letter on official FBI letterhead! For crying out loud why not just beat us over the head with your badge number?!!"

"Maybe whoever sent it did that on purpose, to throw us off the scent," Jim posited, looking from Lois to Clark hopefully.

"I doubt it; this is a seal that not many would dare attempt to replicate. More likely than not whoever sent us this information wants to help us in our search without being directly involved…probably something to do with Bureau policy and protocol," the tall Midwestern reporter said thoughtfully.

"You know…" Jim tried again, studying the bottom of the page in his hands interestedly, "There is a way to find out who sent this to us. These sheets were printed off late last night—see the time and date stamp right here? So all we need to do is get Chloe to hack into their database and see who accessed…"

"Jim, are you crazy?!?" Lois cried out emphatically, throwing her hands up in the air. "Do you _want_ your kids to be born behind bars?! Hacking into a federal database is a criminal offense! Even _I_ wouldn't attempt such a thing if I had the skills, and we all know I'm the least law-abiding person here!"

A curious look crossed Clark's face. "I think there might be another way… Let me go make a quick phone call and run an errand and I'll be right back, ok? Oh, and order lunch for me too, will you?" He strode out of there in a hurry, his long legs carrying him across the bullpen in a flash.

Jim pulled the last of the file folders from the box as Lois reached behind her for some legal pads and pens. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"Beats me, but I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

* * *

**11:53 am. **"Special Agent Jack Yeoh," Clark announced as he strode back into the conference room a little over an hour later, touching the edge of his glasses to make sure they were properly covering his face.

"Come again?" Lois asked, looking up abruptly at the interruption.

"Our 'anonymous informant' is Special Agent Jack Yeoh of the Narcotics Division at the FBI's field office here in Metropolis. He's also the 'courier' who delivered this to us earlier."

"And you know this how?" Jim sat watching his friends' banter back and forth curiously.

"I got in touch with Clarissa and asked for a favor; she then _legally_ back-tracked who had accessed the files in the last twenty-four hours and gave me his name—along with a copy of his ID photo—when I met her on the roof of her building a short while ago. It's him, no doubt about it."

A rap at the door alerted them to the arrival of lunch, and Jim hustled over to take the plastic bag out of the man's hands and pay him. "Ok, so what are we supposed to do with this information now?" he asked as he turned his attention back to the room.

"I don't know. I mean, Clarissa says he's one of the good guys…"

"She said that about Spencer Chase too, and we all know how that turned out," Lois spat bitterly, as all thoughts of the traitorous agent made her blood boil.

"Well, I'm taking her at her word this time," her husband answered, taking a bite of the turkey wrap Jim had passed his way. "Anyhow, the way she explained it was that Al's poking around in the MPD database on our behalf probably sent up a red flag on Yeoh's desk, and he was able to backtrack it to us and our investigation, hence how we ended up with this box. Apparently, Yeoh was heavily involved in the investigation until it was officially closed in '07." Clark cracked open his soda and took a long sip before continuing. "So, what have you guys been able to learn while I've been gone?"

"A little of this, a little of that," she replied as she set her soda down on the table. "Right now we're just trying to make heads and tails of everything. There's nothing concrete, _yet_, but at least it's all information pertaining to _the_ Uncle that we're searching for and not just one of twenty random men who run around this City calling themselves Uncle or something equally ridiculous. The FBI suspects he's been involved in at least a half dozen drug-related murders over the last decade, and that doesn't even include the Buffalo Warehouse Massacre back in '06, which they believe he masterminded."

"What's the Buffalo Warehouse Massacre?" Clark asked as he swallowed a bite of his wrap. Lois and Jim eyed one another wearily, and he knew by their silence and body language that this was _not_ a subject they were comfortable broaching with him.

"I wrote about it—the Massacre, I mean," Lois began softly, putting her veggie burger down on its wrapper. "It was what ended the drug war in the Slums. You see, after you left…" she said as delicately as she could, watching the guilt and pain flash through his azure eyes as she spoke, "After you left, a man named Hector Caro, a drug lord from Gotham, moved to Metropolis. He established as his base the old Buffalo Furniture Warehouse building just on the border of the Slums and Downtown. Of course, nobody knew that that was where he was at the time, that information came out later…anyhow, he initiated a turf war of sorts that dragged on for four years. Authorities were never sure just who Caro was fighting, but whoever it was ended everything one night in April of '06. They came out with guns blazing, Clark; there were _no_ survivors. The warehouse looked like a brick version of Swiss cheese and police found something like forty or forty-five bodies inside—the only body they didn't find was that of Hector Caro; all they found of him was a finger. It was all so bloody and awful…" She shut her eyes tight at the memory, having investigated the area under police escort the following day so she could report on it; it was one of the few stories she'd covered in her very varied career that still made her cringe all these years later. "According to these records, the FBI thinks this Uncle guy was behind it."

Jim watched his friend out of the corner of his eye while he continued to shove more of his turkey wrap into his mouth. "Oh," Clark said slowly, letting his wife's words sink in. He looked wistfully out the window just then, and his companions knew just how hard he was wishing he'd never left.

* * *

**4:43 pm. **"It's like this Uncle guy thinks he's Keyser Soze," Jim said quietly, as he read through yet another list of the man's probable exploits within the drug trade. It was the only thing he and his friends had done for the rest of the day, and they already had one legal pad full of notes.

"What's that, Jim?" Clark asked, eyebrows raised behind his thick glasses as he sat picking through a file of his own.

The photographer looked over at the two of them, putting his paperwork down. "Have you ever guys seen the movie 'The Usual Suspects'?"

"Of course!" Lois piped up. Her husband smiled knowingly; it was one of her favorite films. Dropping her voice, she quoted, "'The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist'." She even mimicked Kevin Spacey blowing at the imaginary puff of smoke.

"Right, well it's like this Uncle guy is pulling a Keyser Soze. Look here, there are at least six FBI sketches from people who _claim_ to have seen him and worked for him, only none of those sketches look like any of the others! Not only that, but the few people that do step forward claiming to have worked with or seen Uncle have had a tendency to disappear or die under mysterious circumstances. It's as though Uncle's a ghost!"

"He may very well be, Jim," Clark muttered under his breath as he re-doubled his efforts. "He may very well be…"


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N:** I dedicate this chapter to my beta, VictorianSuperman, for leaving the best comments in the margins that I've seen in the last 50 chapters. ;-)

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**August 19, 2010, 9:37 pm. **Jim and Chloe relaxed on their sofa, enjoying the soft breeze from the open window blowing through the apartment as they watched a sitcom on TV. A commercial came on and Chloe stirred from her spot nestled against her husband, making as if to get up. He leapt to his feet ahead of her, anxious to do her bidding.

"What do you need?"

"Sit down, Jim!" she admonished, as she braced herself to rise up from the sofa. "I am perfectly capable of getting myself some ice cream."

He pushed gently on her shoulder to make sure she remained in her seat before striding purposefully into the kitchen. "I know you are," he called back from the bar, "But I can get it to you in half the time so you don't have to worry about missing the show." Jim suddenly reappeared at her elbow with a half-eaten gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in one hand and two spoons in the other. "Here you go, Love."

Chloe batted her eyelashes at him. "My hero…OOoofff!" Alarmed, Jim snapped his head around in time to see her face contort in pain.

"What?! What is it?"

She pointed at her rotund stomach as she caught her breath. "It's one of our little soccer players…he or she just tried to score a goal, owwww…"

"Are you ok?" he asked while looking slightly panicked and unsure of what to do. "Is this normal?"

"I think so…" Chloe dropped her spoon in the tub of ice cream and dashed the hair from her face with one hand while holding her husband's palm over her midsection with the other. "Can you feel that, or is it just me?" They waited together in silence until something pushed against Jim's hand.

"Whoa" he said, feeling the baby kick his wife from the inside while watching her grimace in pain. A fresh blow was dealt and he stared at her abdomen in shock. "What do you think that was?"

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as the severity of the blows slowly abated. "It felt like an elbow to me—looks like the sibling rivalry is beginning just a _little_ bit early…" Chloe looked over at Jim's face as he pondered the years of bickering and kicking to come. "What? Just be thankful you don't have to feel like a small bounce house at all hours of the day and night."

"Well it's not like I don't have the padding," he exclaimed, patting his stomach firmly. "If I'm not careful, I'll start to look like Josh. Between finding out about the kids, Clark, and the stress of this Uncle investigation, I must have gained at _least_ fifteen pounds!"

"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that; how's the story going?" She slurped down another bite of the slightly melted ice cream as she waited for his response.

"Even with the notes from our not-so-secret source in the Bureau, we're still not getting any further then we were before. We literally have a mountain of information and nowhere to take it. Lois suggested that the three of us re-canvas the area immediately surrounding ground zero of the fire to see if we can't get anybody to open up to us now that the place isn't crawling with cops, but I really don't know how far that'll get us." Jim let loose an exasperated sigh before pressing on. "It's so _irritating_ to watch everything move along so slowly, and now that I know the secret it's gotten even harder seeing just how this whole thing has been affecting Clark. I want to help him but I feel as though I'm not doing a damn thing except making it harder for him to catch whoever is responsible for supplying the bad heroin and killing all those people. Did you know there have been nearly thirty deaths in the last two and a half months because of that stuff? Clark says that what's making the heroin so lethal is 'alien' in nature…and in some perverse way I think he's blaming himself for that too! Why can't it be simple like in the movies where the hero just swoops in and catches the bad guy, huh? Hollywood always makes everything seem so easy…I can't even imagine what Lois goes through, dealing with him like this at work AND at home. Talk about hard."

Chloe reached a hand out and placed it square against his chest, causing him to meet her eye. "Welcome to the curse of knowing the truth, Jim. We warned you that this wouldn't be easy, and this is just one of the many side effects of knowing what we know. The only real positive that comes from you knowing the 'secret' is that we now have each other to lean on when it comes to worrying about him."

"I know." Jim let loose a sigh and placed his hand on her burgeoning stomach once more to see if he could feel the babies kick, trying his best to shake off the lingering frustration he brought home with him at the end of the day.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**August 19, 2010, 11:08 pm. **Clark stretched out in his recliner, bare feet hanging over the foot rest as the lamp in the corner cast a soft glow over the jean shorts and t-shirt he wore and the paperwork spread out in his lap. His eyes scanned the thin sheet in his hands while his ears focused on three heartbeats; that of his two children sleeping in their bedrooms down the hall, and of Lois tiptoeing barefoot and trying to sneak up behind him.

"Hi Honey," he said softly without turning around.

She stopped just behind him, her hands on her hips. "You know, just once I'd like you to _pretend_ to let me surprise you."

He shuffled the sheets on his lap before setting them aside on the end table before patting his lap for her to sit down, an invitation she was only too happy to accept. "But you pleasantly surprise me all the time," he exclaimed, leaning over for a kiss. As she pulled back for air, her shrewd hazel eyes quickly caught sight of the papers with the FBI logo on them.

"Again?" she asked, exasperated. "What more do you expect to gain from re-reading the Bureau's profile on the guy? It's not as though something is going to magically leap off the page and bite you on the nose."

"I know," he sighed, following her glance to the pages beside him. "But I can't help it. This person is a puzzle wrapped in an enigma and I'm determined to get inside his head _now_ so that I know what I'm up against later—because that's inevitably what it's going to come down to, me versus him. This man isn't Lex Luthor, Lois; he's an unknown and even with my abilities I need all the advantages possible at this point. I mean, look here—the profiler says he's most likely in his mid-30's to late-40's and that, given the role he plays in the drug trade and his relative anonymity within the community, he's probably lived in the Slums all his life so as to have enough of a 'friend' base to cover for him. It also says he has a near-genius IQ but that he probably never had the means or the opportunity to go to college; if he's _that_ smart then he's going to be ready for me…heck, he's probably been ready for me for years! That's probably how Kirk got a hold of the Kryptonite that burned up in the fire…also, the profiler says that Uncle most likely doesn't have a rap sheet of any kind, but theorizes that there must have been some sort of traumatic event in his early life, something that made him the ruthless ghost of a man he is today."

Clark turned his head and stared at his wife, his blue eyes wide and full of concern. "This is the one thing that I just don't understand. What can lead a person to break so radically from knowing what's right and what's wrong and leave them not giving a damn about it?"

She stared at him curiously and wiped the dark hair that hung over his eyes. "With everything that's happened in your life, you very well could have gone the same way," she offered quietly.

He met her gaze, his face very solemn. "I think that's what scares me the most…knowing just how easily our situations could have been reversed…"

* * *

_**East Side Slums**_**, August 20, 2010. **Clark, Jim and Lois slipped into Luciano's Market in the late afternoon, very much in need of sustenance after their grueling and unfulfilling morning. They were re-interviewing neighbors and witnesses from the devastating July apartment fire, checking to see if anyone's stories had changed over the last month and a half while also seeing what people had to say about names the trio fed them to try and determine who Uncle was. The work was slow going, as people weren't telling them _who_ Uncle was however the neighbors were telling them who he _wasn't, _by virtue of their body language and other verbal and visual clues. The pair of reporters and the photographer from the _Planet_ had been able to cross off the names of a handful of potential suspects in the case and decided to pick up a quick bite to eat to revive themselves before talking strategy.

"I think we need to head back to the office and pull up a new list, if what you're saying is true," Lois commented over her shoulder to Jim as she reached out for a cellophane-wrapped sandwich. "If the people we've talked to aren't lying so much as withholding the truth, then maybe we'll get further by feeding them more names…the less they talk about one the more we know we're on the right track." She grabbed three ham and cheese sandwiches.

"No no no, you try these instead," an elderly man in a wheelchair called out kindly to her in a heavily-accented voice. She took note of the plaid, wool blanket kept over his legs, even in the late summer heat, as he spoke again. "Bruschetta, mozzarella and tomato, made fresh this morning by me, see?" He held up his clean muscular hands as if for inspection after passing her the sandwiches. "You like better, trust me."

"Thank you, Mister…?"

"Luciano, Pasquale Luciano. I own the store; me and my boy, Marco," he informed them, gesturing to the brooding, middle-aged man behind the counter.

"Lois, I doubt going back to the office for a new list now is going to get us any closer to finding Uncle today. We might as well give it up and come back tomorrow or Monday," Jim called out as he rounded the corner with three sodas in his hands, not having seen Mr. Luciano before. The female reporter took note of how the older man's face dropped at the mention of their quarry and his eyes darted over worriedly to his son's, who looked back at his father with just as much concern. She sensed a lead.

"Mr. Luciano, this is my friend, James Olsen, and I'm Lois Lane-Kent. Jim, this is Mr. Luciano and his son, Marco; they own the store here…how long have you owned the store again, Sir?" she asked politely, inclining her head toward him once more.

* * *

Clark surreptitiously watched the exchange from several aisles over as he purposefully hunched over the individual sized bags of potato chips. He'd heard the heart rates of both the older man and his son skyrocket the minute they heard Jim utter the name Uncle. He chose to remain out of sight a moment longer to see what his wife was up to.

"Th-thirty-five y-years," the old man stuttered, obviously scared. "D-did you say Kent, as in t-the reporter?"

"From the _Daily Planet_ yes," she replied enthusiastically, pulling out her press badge for him to see. "We're doing a follow-up piece about last month's fire a couple blocks over from here."

"And you t-think Uncle was involved?" Lois' eyes gleamed excitedly at the older man's slip; add to that the fact that he was so obviously rattled meant that they were definitely on the right track. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Marco moved slowly out from behind the counter and over to his father's trembling side.

"We believe so, yes. Why, do you know him? Might you be able to help us get in touch with him for an interview?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, Mrs. Lane-Kent," Marco fairly growled through semi-clenched teeth, one white-knuckled hand gripping the handle of his father's wheelchair tightly. "You and your friends."

Jim interjected thinking only his stomach. "But we haven't paid for our food!"

Marco took another menacing step forward just as Clark made his way toward his wife and friend, allowing himself to stand up to his full height in the hopes that his sheer size would ward off any trouble the younger Luciano might have in store for them. "Perhaps we'll try your sandwiches another time," he intoned, looking from father to son while gently guiding Lois away. The older man in the wheelchair seemed to be on the verge of tears he was so frightened, while his son stood by seething in silent anger. The bell on the door clanged behind them as all three emerged out onto the sidewalk, empty-handed, and they began walking towards the main thoroughfare.

"He knows something," Lois informed her companions the minute they were out of sight of the market.

"No, really?" Clark asked sarcastically as they made their way down the street to find a cab. "Lois, those men weren't just being evasive, they were downright petrified. They know who Uncle is, and they must know him more intimately than others in the neighborhood—he might even be related to them for all we know."

A young man in a hooded sweatshirt caught wind of the trio's conversation and turned his head sharply, recognizing that they were talking about the Lucianos. He swiftly took off in the opposite direction to inform his boss as to what he'd heard.

* * *

A block away from Uncle's warehouse, Parker caught sight of Shane running like the hounds of hell were on his heels. "Hey Freeze!" he shouted, stopping the young man cold. Shane skidded to a full stop, rounded his shoulders and ambled over to the older man in Uncle's operation. "Where're you running off to like that? What's going on?"

He pulled the hood away from his face. "I was over by Luciano's and I heard these people—two men and a woman—talking about how they were looking for Uncle and that they know that the Lucianos are hiding something. I don't think the old man and his son gave him up, but whoever those people are they don't sound like they're going away anytime soon. I was just on my way to warn Uncle now, see what he wanted to do about it."

The gruff middle-aged man put a hand on Shane's shoulder just as the young runner turned to head back to the warehouse. "Don't bother; he's got enough on his plate right now without having to deal with this. I'll take care of it."

"You sure?" Shane asked, shifty-eyed and uncomfortable at the older man's readiness to take control of the situation.

"I'm sure, now run along…I bet you got a lot of other business to attend to." He patted the boy on the back and watched him trot down the alleyway between warehouses until he was out of sight.

* * *

Clark took off shortly after they returned to the _Daily_ _Planet_ from lunch, leaving Lois and Jim to delve further into Pasquale Luciano's life. He figured that by varying his routine from his usual patrols he might be able to catch more drug runners, or perhaps even Uncle himself, putting an end to the nightmarish situation before it got anymore out of hand.

He hovered two miles over the Slums, focusing his energy on what was transpiring on the streets below. Clark was learning to no longer _ignore_ the dull throbbing in his temples from the Kryptonite and instead turned his attention to the locations where the pain was most acute. Along the waterfront was the first and obvious spot, as the debris from New Krypton still managed to wash ashore in tiny pieces all these years later. There were also several blocks of buildings where he sensed the Kryptonite's presence, but he couldn't say for certain which apartment or even which building it was in. Clark realized for the first time that up until now he'd always encountered Kryptonite in its raw form, and that if its physical appearance had been altered even in the slightest he wouldn't necessarily recognize the danger until it was too late. It worried him to no end knowing that so much of the deadly rock from his home world lay scattered out in the open miles below his feet and potentially in the hands of his enemies, yet he was helpless to do anything about it.

* * *

He strolled back into the conference room where Lois and Jim were working and nervously re-adjusted his tie. "Hey guys, how's the background into Mr. Luciano coming?"

"Not bad, CK," Jim replied, chewing noisily on a stale snack from the vending machine. "He emigrated here from Italy in the mid-1960's and opened up his own shop ten years later. His wife passed away in 2001 and—oh Lois, you're going to want to hear this—he lost his leg five years ago in a drive-by during the Slum's drug war. Apparently Pasquale Luciano got shot and doctors were able to remove the bullet, but somehow the wound became infected and eventually they had to amputate. That's when his son Marco decided to step in and help him run the business. Marco has no wife or kids, and he and his father live together in an apartment behind the store."

"So they're clean then?" Clark asked, trying to assimilate the new information.

"Not exactly," Lois chimed in, taking the pencil out of her mouth and glancing over the top of her glasses at her husband and friend. She slid several pieces of paper towards their end of the table. "Marco is Pasquale Luciano's _youngest son_—there's another son, Paulo, who's two years older. He owns a small machine repair shop on the edge of Downtown Metropolis, near Chinatown."

Jim spluttered on his snack mix, having missed this piece of the puzzle. "Wait, so _Paulo_ could be Uncle?"

Clark shook his head vigorously as he read the information Lois had passed to him; the curl peeked out briefly from under the mess of dark locks before disappearing again. "No; he's married with two kids, went to trade school after high school and owns his own business—not to mention that he's on the older side of the profile that the FBI compiled."

"And Clark would know, he's been studying that thing backwards and forwards since we got it," Lois announced, drumming her fingers along the tabletop before her.

A pause fell over the room and all three listened to the bustle just outside the door. Lois and Clark locked eyes and a silent communication passed between them while Jim sat in the middle, trying to decipher it all.

"Well if Paulo isn't Uncle, then who is?"

"Marco," Lois and Clark answered as one.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**August 20, 2010, 10:57 pm. **"I'm sorry, but we're closed," Marco called out to the dark figure making his way up the steps as he stood behind the glass door about to lock up. Parker persisted and forced his way into the dimly lit market.

Glancing down at the smaller man, he snarled. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Marco raised his hands up in surrender as he recognized the man. "I don't know what you heard, but we didn't tell them anything! They were the ones asking the questions and we threw them out without giving them any answers, I swear!!!"

"Well, then this will ensure that you won't tell them anything the _next _time they come around…" He pulled back his fist and decked the grocer swiftly across the face before the man had a chance to defend himself—and the hits just kept on coming.

"Marco? Marco, what's going on?" Pasquale asked worriedly as he wheeled himself out of the back room at the loud noise. He watched in horror as the street thug whaled on his son, and he grabbed the baseball bat kept just behind the storeroom door. Pushing himself toward his son's assailant, the bat held aloft in his right hand, the old man cried out, "You leave my son alone! We no tell them nothing, you stop this!" He was about to bring the weapon crashing down on Parker's bald head when the man reached up and grabbed the bat in his meaty hand, twisting it out of the old man's grip and throwing it away down a nearby aisles.

"This goes for you too, Old Timer," Parker said menacingly, turning his attention to the man in the wheelchair. He hit Pasquale so hard above his left eye that the impact sent the older man sprawling on the cold floor as his wheelchair spun into a toilet paper end display two aisles away.


	51. Chapter 51

_**Daily Planet, **_**August 23, 2010. **Clark had been called away during breakfast and now rode up into the bullpen with Jim, sipping from a travel mug full of coffee and thinking about the people he was able to save from the giant sink hole that had developed out of nowhere in South America. "So, did you have a good weekend, Jim?"

His friend shrugged his shoulders. "I guess…after Chloe pulled those financials for you and Lois, we decided it was time to really get some of the important baby items together, so we did some more shopping and set-up the two cribs, the changing table, double stroller, car seats…" his voice trailed off and he turned to face his friend. "Putting those cribs together did two things to me. One, it reminded me exactly why I'm a photographer and not a contractor; these hands were NOT meant to build. I really hope those cribs don't come apart and let one or both of our kids fall out and hit their heads."

Clark laughed aloud at his friend's revelation and nearly upset his coffee. "I'm sure they're not that bad, but if you want I'll take a look at them the next time I come over. What was the second thing?"

The photographer let loose a sigh. "The second thing it did was to remind me that these babies are really _coming_. I mean, right now they're 'our children' in the abstract, but someday soon they'll actually be here; and I hope you don't think less of me for saying this, but the realization that there will be physical babies in the world that are wholly dependent on me for care scares me so much sometimes I feel like I'm going to throw up!" he hastened to add, glancing worriedly at the father of two standing beside him.

The elevator stopped and the two men disembarked. "What? You think _I_ didn't get hit with a case of nerves like that before Haley was born?"

"So it's not just me?"

"No, _of course_ it's not just you! But just wait until you get to hold them in your arms, Jim; I…I can't even describe it for you, the sheer amount of love that pours forth is simply amazing. You'll never know another love like it, not if you live to be 100. There's nothing else like it on Earth."

Clark paused with Jim as they stopped at his desk and he watched his friend visibly relax as he set his camera case down. With a sly smile on his lips, he asked quietly, "What about a love _not_ of this Earth?"

The reporter swatted his friend playfully in the arm with his folded newspaper before they made their way over to Lois in the conference room. "See now, this is just another reason why I didn't want to tell you…" he joked, laughing all the way across the bullpen.

* * *

Some time later, all three were poring exhaustively over their paperwork on the Luciano family once more in an attempt to connect Marco to the drug trade and pin him as the notorious East Side Slums Uncle. "Hmm, that's odd," Lois mused as she looked over the financial records Chloe had procured over the weekend.

"What's odd?" Clark asked, sidling up beside her.

"Well, it says here that the grocery is barely getting by—I mean, Pasquale and Marco own the shop and the flat behind it free and clear, but they don't have much extra beyond that…and yet…how much do you suppose major surgery costs?"

"Several thousand dollars…" Jim chimed in from his corner of the room, walking over so that they could all puzzle over Lois' finding together. "Or about the cost of a small car if you're uninsured, maybe more depending on the severity of the injury and the extent of the surgery. Why do you ask?" His married friends looked him over quizzically and Jim frowned. "What? I hate hospitals for a good reason…and _no_, I don't want to talk about it."

Clark let out a small chuckle and slipped his hands in his pant pockets before turning back to his wife. "Ok…so where are you going with this, Lois?"

"Marco never paid for Pasquale's surgeries out of any of their bank accounts, and they _don't_ have health insurance."

Both men let out low whistles as the cost estimates for an amputation came to mind.

"Maybe they got the money from Paulo?" Jim threw out.

Lois gave a quick shake of her head. "That's _highly_ unlikely—Paulo's repair shop barely gives him enough to make his own family's ends meet, let alone his father's."

Clark turned to look at his wife. "What if Pasquale and Marco mortgaged the shop?"

"There's no paperwork to support a second mortgage being taken out on the property."

Jim looked over at his friends with a wise smirk on his face. "What if they sold something else, like a car?"

"That would be rather difficult, considering they never owned an automobile. Remember, we didn't find any pinks in their files?" Lois replied sanctimoniously.

"Well if Marco is Uncle then maybe the bank records are a ruse; I mean, it stands to reason that they'd have a secret pile of cash around that they wouldn't keep in a bank," Jim announced exasperatedly in a last ditch effort to explain away the holes in the Luciano family's financial history.

Lois clucked her tongue and shook her head determinedly. "Perhaps..."

"Which points us right back to Marco being Uncle and having large amounts of cash at his disposal," Clark said before stopping himself rather abruptly. "Wait, that doesn't make sense though. I mean, if Marco really were Uncle, would he have let the war hit so close to home? To be fighting for control of your turf and watching your own father get shot…Lois, you told me on Friday that Pasquale got shot in October of 2005…"

"Riiiiight…" she replied hesitantly, unsure of her husband's line of reasoning.

"Jim, pass me that file over there, the one I typed up last week with all the dates of the Slum war drive-bys and retaliation shootings."  
"Sure thing, CK." Clark flipped through the chart until he found what he was looking for.

"Here, see this? After Mr. Luciano got shot there wasn't another drive-by for twelve days…not until early November, see? If Marco were Uncle, he wouldn't have waited that long to send a message back to Hector Caro, especially since it was his own father who got hit. I don't think Marco is tied up in this like we had originally thought."

"But you _do_ think that Uncle gave them the money to pay the hospital," Jim whispered, finishing the unspoken thought for his friend. Clark nodded slowly, then turned to stare out the window at the denizens of the City moving about below them, oblivious to the silent danger all around them.

Lois sidled up between them and followed their gaze. "I think we need to pay the Lucianos another visit."

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**August 23, 2010. **Uncle forced himself to even out his breathing and keep his formidable anger in check as he awaited Parker's arrival. It hadn't taken long for word to spread throughout the neighborhood about what had happened to the Lucianos on Friday night and just who had inflicted the damage; it was only because he'd spent the bulk of his weekend working underground that he missed hearing it until recently.

Pasquale and his son Marco had been beaten up, and they'd been beaten badly.

They'd been beaten by Parker, a known associate of Uncle's.

Under Uncle's strict orders.

Given his connection to Parker, it was a logical connection for the community to make, but the neighborhood had no way of knowing that this last bit of talk was utterly and heinously false. When Jacob had come forth with the news and Shane had corroborated his implicit part in the affair they were each sent off with their own orders.

"YOU!" Uncle shouted at the young man in the hooded sweatshirt, "Find me Parker! Betray NOTHING of what I know and bring him back here IMMEDIATELY!" Shane escaped out the door faster then his employer thought possible, and Leroy turned his attention to Jacob, his tone only slightly less severe. "I want you to cover the cost of their medical expenses from one of our on-shore accounts. Go to the old man and assure him that what happened Friday night was not of my doing, and that I would never harm him or his family. I need you to do this for me, Jacob, before you present them with the check; I need them both to know that I had nothing whatsoever to do with this, do you understand? It's very important that you do this; don't leave until they know how sorry I am."

Jacob nodded silently and hastily slipped from the room, following in Shane's footsteps to do as he was told.

Pasquale Luciano had looked out for Leroy ever since he was a young boy.

He'd given him a job when jobs in the Slums were scarce, and had paid him a fair wage to boot.

Pasquale was the closest any man had come to being a father figure in his life after his own father passed away.

The news of what had befallen the Lucianos because of their connection to him hurt Uncle greatly, and that is why he gave no small consideration to plotting Parker's demise.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**August 23, 2010. **"Mr. Luciano!" Lois called out as the trio entered the store. "Mr. Luciano, it's Lois Lane-Kent…we came back to try those delicious sandwiches you offered us on Friday!" The store was empty and eerily quiet, save for the dinging of the bell on the door, and no one emerged from the back room to greet them. The journalists studied the interior and found nothing to be amiss. "Clark, could you…?" she asked as she mimed him lowering his glasses. He turned toward the back wall lined with refrigerators and peered through them into the storage room and the apartment.

"Mr. Luciano's coming, he's just wheeling himself through the back room now, and it looks like…" he took another peek just to be sure, "Yes, it looks like Marco is in the apartment lying down. I think his left arm is broken."

"Broken? How'd he do that?" Jim asked, alarmed.

Clark shrugged his shoulders under his brown suit coat. "Beats me, Jim. How does anyone break an arm?"

"Oh yeah, right," he replied, giving his friend a sheepish grin.

The top of the store owner's head came into view just then, and Lois strode toward him with her hand outstretched. "Hello again, Mr. Luciano! Do you remember me? I'm Lois Lane-Kent, we met last Friday; my friends and I came back to try some of your sandwiches…" as he rounded the corner by the counter all three took notice of his black eye.

"No, you must leave," he said, cutting her off abruptly while pushing his chair forward, herding the three of them towards the exit. "You have to go right now. Leave."

"Sir, how did you get the black eye?" Clark asked kindly, gently nudging Lois aside so he could better examine the injury. His best guess was that the mark was only two days old.

"I…uh…I was hit in face by door, yes…I not see it in time. Now leave, out, out!" Pasquale hurled his wheelchair forward once more until Jim had no recourse but to open the front door and all three of them stumbled back onto the sidewalk. "And no come back, you hear?!"

"I'll give you three guesses as to who gave that poor old man his black eye and broke his son's arm, and the first two don't count," Clark stated gravely.

"Uncle," Jim replied grimly, shoving his hands in his pockets and feeling sorry for people who they'd all considered to be suspects just an hour before.

"Did you guys see what was on his lap?"

The photographer and the reporter looked up at Clark skeptically, until Lois' trademark sarcasm burst forth. "Um, no. We were too busy looking at the BIG BLACK AND BLUE BRUISE on his face to notice what was on poor Mr. Luciano's lap," she retorted as they stopped on a street corner further up the road and flagged down a cab.

"Well it's a good thing you have me around then," he announced, opening the door of the taxi that had pulled up beside them. Jim climbed into the front seat and gave the driver directions back to the _Planet_.

"Don't leave us in suspense—out with it!" she exclaimed as they lurched forward into traffic.

"Mr. Luciano had a cashier's check from the MDWCU dated today and made in the amount of $1677." Jim turned around in his seat to pow-wow with his friends while Clark beamed, nudging the glasses up his face, obviously proud of himself for catching this minor detail.

"What's the MDWCU?" the photographer asked, curiously.

"It's the Metropolis Dock Worker's Credit Union, located near the warehouses here on the East Side." Lois bit her lower lip in thought before continuing. "But why would Mr. Luciano be getting a check in the amount of $1677? No one in his family has an account there—we know as much from the financial records Chloe gave us this morning, not to mention that the amount seems a bit odd, doesn't it?"

Clark nodded in agreement and opened his mouth to answer her before Jim interjected. "It's not odd if that's how much an ER or a walk-in clinic would charge to set and cast a broken arm," he offered in a serious tone. "It would also explain _why_ he got a check dated today, when there's no bank or mail service on Sunday….because _Uncle_ hand-delivered the money."

"Now the only question left is why? Obviously he found out that we were in the store on Friday snooping around…but here's the part that I don't get. Uncle's M.O. appears to be to strike hard and fast against those who displease or oppose him leaving behind little to no evidence afterward, so why attack the Lucianos…"

"…only to leave them both alive and then send a cash apology three days later?" Lois asked, finishing her husband's thought for him.

Jim shuddered involuntarily in his seat as if struck by a chill wind. "Sorry, it's just that it's always spooky to see you two do that."

"Do what?" they asked simultaneously, completely unaware of a habit that came so naturally to the two of them

He waved them off. "Nothing, nothing." The cab finally came to a stop in front of the _Daily Planet_ building and the trio scrambled out, with Clark stooping in through the front window to pay the driver. Jim continued his line of questioning. "This still doesn't help us find Uncle though…" The revolving doors cut him off mid-thought. "We now know that Marco isn't Uncle…and Clark, just how sure are you that Paulo isn't Uncle?"

"He isn't, Jim, I'd bet my life on it. The guy doesn't fit the profile in any way, shape or form."

"Ok, so all this means is that the Lucianos _probably_ know Uncle, but now they're too scared to talk to anybody, not to mention that they've been beaten AND paid off for their future silence. Where are we supposed to look now?"

Lois proceeded to twirl a strand of her chestnut hair around her finger, absently staring into space as they entered the elevator and made their way back to the newsroom. "We know that Pasquale doesn't have any other family in this country outside of Marco and Paulo and his grandkids are too young to be involved in the drug trade…what if it's one of his former employees?" she asked in a hushed whisper, ceasing her twirling. She all but burst through the elevator doors like a race horse out of the starting gate, calling out over her shoulder, "We need to look at all the old employment records for Luciano's Market, now!"

Clark and Jim watched her from the doorway as she plowed forth without them. "She really is like a dog with a bone, isn't she?" the younger man thought out loud as he watched his friend stride determinedly through the chaos.

"More like a mini Perry, I think," Clark retorted with a laugh, studying her backside as she stalked towards the conference room.

"Boys, I said NOW!"

Both men jumped. "Coming!"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 13, 2010. **Chloe sat at the kitchen table awkwardly, a yellow legal pad balanced between her rotund stomach and the edge of the table. The sheet was divided into two columns; the heading on one side read 'Boys' while the heading on the other side read 'Girls'.

"What about the name Peter for a boy?" she called out to Jim as he stood over the stove in the kitchen.

He stopped pushing the hash browns around on the frying pan. "NO, anything but Peter. Lois, Clark and I have been trying to trace this one guy named Peter A. Smith who worked at Luciano's Market back in 1980 and it has become a royal pain in my ass…I don't ever want to see the name Peter ever again! I'm even beginning to hate that _I'm_ stuck with it for a middle name! Ahh!!!" he exclaimed, the stress of the search readily apparent in his speech and demeanor.

"Sorry, sorry! You hear that Little Ones?" she asked, looking down and rubbing her stomach, "No naming either of you Peter, or letting you make friends with kids named Peter, are we clear?" She turned to look at her husband, green eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ok then, now that we're done admonishing our unborn twins, let's get back to the business at hand…"

"You know, instead of calling them 'the twins' we could just take a quick trip to the doctor to help us narrow things down, tell us if we're having two boys or two girls…"

"Or one of each," Chloe interjected, "But we agreed that we wanted to be surprised, which is why we need a list of both boys _and_ girls' names so that when D-day comes we'll be prepared."

"D-Day?"

"Delivery day."

Jim paused as he tipped the hash browns into a plate. "Oh."

She patted her stomach. "Just two and a half more months."

"Just two and a half more months…" he repeated, leaning over the table and placing a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs before her. He let loose a barely audible sigh as he sat down beside his wife, reaching for his fork only to find her hand stretching out for his.

"Hey…" Chloe said softly, intertwining her fingers with his and setting the name list aside. "When the time comes, everything's going to be fine, Jim; you're going to be a great dad."

"You don't know that," he wallowed.

She leaned over and drew his face to hers, closing her eyes and kissing him tenderly on the lips. "Yes, I do."

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, September 15, 2010, 4:13 pm. **"Finally! I thought we'd never move past Peter Smith of 1980…" Lois exclaimed, stretching back in her seat and flinging her stocking feet on top of the table triumphantly.

Jim looked up over his paperwork at the other end of the table with a grimace. "Yeah…too bad we found out that the Peter A. Smith we've been looking for died in 1996. Just another in an ever-growing list of dead ends…no pun intended." He glanced back down at list upon list of any and every employee Pasquale Luciano had hired between 1975 and 1998 and felt his eyes begin to glaze over. _How many people did this guy employ? What was he? Some kind of revolving door for cashiers or something?! UGH!!!_ "Any idea when Clark's coming back? He can get through this a lot faster than we can. How long do these hurricane rescues usually take?"

"It's only been about forty-five minutes, Jim." Lois studied him as he sighed wistfully over his paperwork. "Tell you what, why don't you get us some coffee from the kitchen, and see what you can pick up of Clark's progress on the TV monitors. Just…"

He stopped in his tracks mid-way to the door. "Just what?"

"Just…be quiet about it, you know? Try not to draw attention to yourself."

"Lois! I've known for two months now, I think I know how to keep _the secret_!"

"Alright, alright," she cried, waving him off so she could get back to her work.

Jim strolled toward the kitchenette area, glancing at the televisions surreptitiously as he did so, scanning the various news programs for word of Superman's latest feats of heroism. He'd just reached the coffee maker when a breaking news story erupted on one of the screens.

"We interrupt this broadcast for a breaking news alert. Good afternoon, I'm Annette Armstrong and we've just received word of an attack made on Superman in Metropolis' notorious East Side. Our crews are racing to the scene to bring you the most up-to-date information on the assault…" He wasn't even aware of what he was doing or just how fast he was moving, but Jim burst through the conference room doors a split second later like a hurricane all his own.

"Lois, you've got to come hear this," he told her, his brown-blond hair waving in the wake created by his rapid movement. She stood up from her chair and listened to the deadly quiet of the bullpen before racing after Jim to see for herself what had everyone so rattled.

The news anchor sat poised behind her desk in a charcoal gray suit, her ebony hair pulled back smartly only serving to heighten the aggrieved air about her. "The footage you are about to see was sent to us anonymously from a viewer's video phone not fifteen minutes ago, and by all accounts, it _is_ authentic. What you are about to see may be disturbing…"

* * *

**Forty minutes earlier…**Clark hovered over the Florida coastline, weighing his options on how best to blow back the Category 4 hurricane that threatened to decimate cities and towns waiting on the shore behind him. Inhaling sharply, he concentrated his immense breath on pushing the storm back out to sea; he succeeded in doing so by several miles, but the hurricane still persisted in it's mission to make landfall. Soaring out toward the meteorological phenomena, he studied it a moment longer before flying rapidly in its counter-direction, steering it harmlessly further out into the ocean where it would no longer be a threat.

It took some time more to clean up from all the flooding and the traffic accidents caused by the high waves along the waterfront, and after he lent a hand he turned around and headed home to Metropolis. The City's skyline stood out sharply against the clear blue backdrop, spotted only with a handful of clouds, and he decided that it was as good an opportunity as any to patrol the area over the Slums. The investigation into locating Uncle was slow going, and so far Clark hadn't been able to catch any dealers in the act. He forced himself to remember that it was only a matter of time before Uncle slipped up, and so he pushed past the dull throb in his temples and carefully surveyed the street corners below him.

_"How much you want?"_

_"Umm…what'd we say, twenty grams, guys? For all of us?"_

_"That's $500."_

_"$500?! It was $400 last week!"_

_"It's all about supply and demand, my friends. Now are you in or you out?" _

_Looks like today's my lucky day, _he thought as he listened to the youths arguing at the end of a nearby alley. Zeroing in on the group, Clark saw two small packets of powders and a large wad of cash exchange hands. The four better dressed teens—two men and two women—were just about to walk off together toward the Downtown area while the dealers were on the verge of retreating further into the Slums.

"I'd stay right there if I were you," the Man of Steel announced coldly, preparing to round all six adolescents up and transport them to the nearest police station. He felt the presence of Kryptonite on one of their persons immediately, but the effects only served to make him more wary and on his guard then ever before. Clark took a step forward toward the dealers as the users were too scared out of their wits to move anywhere while under the watchful eye of the superhero; that's when the two other men scattered.

"Don't _even_ think about it," he intoned to the quaking foursome before speeding off on foot after the young man straight ahead. He caught up to him easily and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, lifting him up to the tips of his toes while fixing him with a menacing glare. "I take it you enjoy killing people, one ounce at a time…but we'll talk about that, as well as who is supplying you and your buddies, once we get down to the station." Clark's confidence was bolstered by catching one of the drug dealers in the act, and he was very cognizant of the fact that the young man in his grip slipped a hand inside his pants pocket. "Uh uh uh…now I want you to bring whatever's in your hand out very slowly. Remember, I said slowly," he instructed the dealer.

The shifty young man did as he was told, revealing a small black cylinder about five inches long. Clark instantly recognized the effects of the Kryptonite beneath the aluminum casing and it made his muscles tremble ever so slightly, yet he clenched his fists tighter in the shirt around the man's neck and refused to let go. "Whatever that is don't even think of using it. You'll throw it away if you know what's good for you; you're in enough trouble as it is." Again, the man did as he was told and he tossed the object unceremoniously over his shoulder towards the four buyers who had crouched in fear behind some trash barrels. None of them thought to run with Superman so near, but one of them did have presence of mind enough to whip out his cell phone and begin video-recording the confrontation twenty feet in front of them. The dealer's eyes darted back and forth between the hero's face and just beyond his shoulder, while Clark's remained fixed solely on the prisoner as he willed himself to remain in control.

"Yo Freeze, dude, you gotta help me out! He knew about my stash and now he ain't lettin' me go!!!"

Clark wheeled around in time to face the man's hooded accomplice, only to receive a full spray of Kryptonite right in his eyes.

"**AAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**"


	52. Chapter 52

_**Daily Planet**_**, September 15, 2010, 4:15 pm. **"Oh my God!" Lois hissed under her breath as the footage from Superman's attack cut off into black and white fuzz. Without looking away from the television she reached out and clutched Jim's arm in her iron-tight clasp. "We have to get down there, we have to help him!!"

"Witnesses have been flooding our phone lines, claiming to have seen the Man of Steel hovering over the City in a haphazard manner for the last ten minutes. Many liken his flight to that of a weaving drunken driver…" Annette Armstrong announced from her television news desk.

Her jaw clenched tighter at the news as she resolved to help her husband the only way she could "I've got to get to the roof," Lois whispered hoarsely, eyes darting around at the other stunned photographers on the floor, "And don't let **any** of these vultures follow me!" She struggled to keep her speed in check, scooting around desks and chair s when all she wanted to do was sprint across the bullpen. Pausing at the stairway to the roof for the briefest of moments, she looked back to find only one pair of eyes following her progress: Jim's. With a curt nod of the head she pushed the door open and dashed up onto the roof as quickly as she could.

* * *

**3:55 pm. **Clark felt fire in his eyes and everything went white for the briefest of moments, followed by nothing but pitch blackness and a sharp, stinging pain. As much as he wanted to scream in agony he clamped his mouth shut and held his breath as he let go of the drug dealer's grimy shirt collar and took off into the late afternoon sky. Both men on the ground didn't need a second invitation to flee the scene as the superhero became nothing but a deep blue dot against the skyline.

_I can't…NO…__**ARGGGGHHH!!!!!**_ his mind cried out as he twirled in mid-air, seeking out the warmth of the sun. The pain brought with it memories of his past imprisonment and he felt his throat go dry and begin to close out of sheer panic. _I'm not there…_he reminded himself forcefully, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, _I'm not in the bunker…I __will__ get this off of my face, I __will__ be fine…_

With his vision gone, he immediately felt his other senses kick into over-drive in compensation; in particular, his hearing now picked up every sound within a seventy-five mile radius and he had no means of tuning them out. He knew he had enough air in his lungs to last him a short while until he could get the Kryptonite off his face safely so he wouldn't inhale it—the greater problem was that he didn't know in which direction safety lay. Car horns, television sets, private conversations, police sirens, crashing waves…all of the City noises that he was normally able to block out now bombarded him mercilessly and without his eyes, he didn't know which way to turn.

At long last, he felt the sun touch his face as it poked out behind a lingering cloud and he instantly swiveled in that direction. His eyes still throbbed and burned, making it difficult to tell if the UV rays were working to their full effect or if the residual Kryptonite was interfering with his body's usual healing processes. He could only imagine what he must look like to the people on the street as he bobbed up and down in the air, looking more like a buoy in choppy seas then a stalwart hero, but that was the least of his problems now. Clark had to follow the sunlight in order to counteract the effects of the radiation and he couldn't trust himself to fly any faster or higher then he was currently moving—and even at this height he was still scraping the sides of the odd apartment building or high-rise that graced the Metropolis skyline.

Clark struggled to keep his fear at bay and simultaneously sift through the millions of sounds that now assaulted his ears. What normally came to him so simply—singling out the heartbeats of his wife and children—was now an extremely difficult task. He knew he was moving West, away from the East Side Slums and the Kryptonite and toward the horizon line, but where _exactly _he was over the great City he couldn't say.

His air supply was steadily dwindling from the presence of the poisonous green dust on his face when a piercing cry sliced through the din, causing him to involuntarily turn his head sharply to the right. It was the one voice out of millions he'd recognize anywhere on the planet, under any set of circumstances.

* * *

Lois burst out onto the _Daily Planet _rooftop and began screaming his name at the top of her lungs before the steel door had a chance to shut behind her.

"SUPERMAN!!!!" she cried out. "SUPERMAN, LISTEN TO ME! I WANT YOU TO FOLLOW MY VOICE!!! I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT, NOW JUST FOLLOW MY VOICE!!!"

It was another five minutes before his red, blue and yellow clad form came into view, and she kept shouting his name at the top of her lungs to give him a target to aim for. "WATCH OUT! THE GRAINGER BUILDING IS TO YOUR RIGHT!!! NO, NO, YOUR _OTHER _RIGHT! YOU'RE ALMOST HERE, CL—_SUPERMAN, _YOU'RE DOING GREAT, JUST A LITTLE BIT FURTHER…" As soon as he was within reach, she grabbed his foot and pulled him down, wanting to take him in her arms and assess the damage for herself.

He slipped his boot out of her grasp easily, and now that she was within close proximity he could hear the frenetic beating of her heart.

"What, what is it? Why aren't you landing, what's wrong?" she wondered aloud, more worried than ever by his strange behavior. The sun flashed in her eyes briefly, as she tried to look up into his face and determine the extent of his injuries. _Why isn't he talking? Why isn't he saying anything?

* * *

I haven't got much air left…_with that thought he mimicked the action of wiping his face clean, then waited for her response.

"You need a rag…you need to sneeze…" she guessed, blurting out whatever plausible answers popped into her head as though they were playing Charades instead of trying to communicate in the midst of a life or death situation. He shook his head vigorously and listed slightly to the side as he struggled to remain conscious. "You…you…YOU NEED TO WIPE YOUR FACE!!! OK, OK, here's what you need to do—you need to fly UP roughly ten more feet, then float over to the left about four feet and move forward another seven feet; it'll bring you to the edge of the rain water tank and you can rinse your face off in there, ok?" Clark perked up as she verbally directed him toward the barrel high above their heads. "A little more to the left…a little more…ok, forward…there! Reach out and grab the edge, Clark, you're there!"

He exhaled into the water tank as he dunked his whole head into the barrel to rid himself of the Kryptonite dust; down below, it sounded to Lois like ten whirlpool jets going off at once.

Clark thought he would never be able to draw enough air into his lungs as he took the longest breath of his life. "**ARGHH!!!!**" he cried out, flinging his head back and whipping his dripping black locks against his head in the process. His eyes were still clamped shut, as the water did little to alleviate the burning, stinging pain, and he lowered himself gently to the ground with labored breath. Clark braced himself against the brick wall by the door for a minute, sucking in still more air, before stumbling forward.

"Lois! Lois, where are you?!" he cried out in a terrified voice, groping blindly for his wife.

"I'm right here," she whispered as she rushed forward into his embrace.

"How did you know that I needed you?"

"You always need me," she replied cheekily, relieved to have him near. A small smile graced his lips at her snark. "There was a news report on the TV in the bullpen just a few minutes ago…" She proceeded to babble on about the cell phone video footage to dampen the adrenaline-fueled dread that still coursed through her veins. As she spoke, she carefully studied his face.

His eyes were squeezed shut and the lids and the area around the sockets appeared blistered and inflamed. Lois relinquished her hold on one of his hands as she reached up and gently pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger to get a better look at his injuries.

"NO!" he shouted forcefully, jerking his face away from her grasp and causing her to jump back at the sound of his booming baritone voice. It pained her to hear him in such a wretched state again and she felt her knees tremble as she recalled those trying days after he woke up on the Farm two years ago. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, it's just that…" he stopped and sighed resignedly, "it stings _so_ much, and the sun hasn't been able to work what with all the dust still on my face. It's very tender."

She nodded slowly and tried to take a deep breath but found she couldn't escape the sobs rising up in her throat. Without further hesitation, she flung her arms around his middle and drew herself to him. Clark held her tight and tilted his head down to where he suspected her unruly mop of brown hair was, giving her a gentle kiss to try and soothe her. The whole situation was frightening for both of them.

"Are you…are you…?" At her questioning, he tentatively lifted open his eyelids, allowing her to examine them for herself. Instead of the normal, clear blue color that she looked upon lovingly on a daily basis, she now found herself confronted with two milky-white orbs flecked with tiny specks of neon green that sparkled in the sunlight.

"I'm blind, at least temporarily, I think. Whoever the second dealer was he had some sort of device that sprayed the Kryptonite dust right in my face before I could stop him." Lois nodded her head at his casual assessment and she pressed herself even closer to him. Knowing she was there by his side, through thick and thin, helped bolster his spirits that things would be ok in the end, no matter what the outcome of this particular ordeal. "What I need now is to get the last of the sun; the only problem is, I can't just take off and fly above the cloud layer where it's strongest and get it. My hearing has moved into hyper-drive, meaning that if I were to be floating along in the path of a plane and not be able to focus to hear it in time…"

"Then the plane would come out the worse for wear and you'd be in no condition to save it, I know," she finished for him, hastily wiping away her tears.

"I could hang out here and hover above the _Daily Planet_ globe," he suggested.

Lois shook her head vigorously in the negative until she remembered that he couldn't see her. "No, I don't like that idea. Yes you need to get all the sunlight you can, but what if that isn't enough? What if your sight hasn't returned by the time the sun has set, then how are we going to get you home? I can't see as well as you can, I won't be able to guide you and it's not like we can smuggle you through the building and into a taxi without drawing some attention."

Before he could respond, he gently pushed Lois behind him, whispering, "Someone's coming."

"Hey," Jim announced as he opened the roof access door and stepped out to join his friends, Lois' purse and jacket in his hands.

"Hey Jim," Clark called out softly, instantly relaxing at the sound of his friend's voice. He released the anxious breath he'd been holding and turned in his friend's direction, staring blindly past the photographer's left shoulder.

"How's it going?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old."

"Ha."

The trio stood there mutely, unmoving until Clark turned his face up to meet the sun's healing rays. Jim and Lois locked eyes and he saw the deep sadness and fierce protectiveness in the glint of her hazel orbs as they stood there on the roof. He moved closer to them to try to take charge of the situation and relieve at least some of her burden.

"Lois, why don't you head back to the apartment and I'll hang out up here with the Big Guy while you tell the kids what's going on…"

Clark hastened to add, "And my Mom, don't forget to tell her that I'm alright."

"But you're not alright!"

Jim curiously watched the two of them bicker before cutting in. "I think that's a bridge you guys can cross later; besides, I doubt your Mom's even heard the news yet; it's only on the local stations…"

"Um, Jim? My Mom's _in_ Metropolis right now; she's watching the kids at our place."

"Oh," he answered sheepishly, surprised that he hadn't considered that when he knew his friend could fly around the globe in the blink of an eye. "Anyhow, I'll stay up here and keep him company until I get a call from you saying that you're ready. Deal?"

Lois looked up into her husband's face, trying to gauge for herself whether he thought this was an acceptable solution when he spoke up for them both. "That sounds like a plan. Sweetheart, I'll hang out here with Jim for a bit longer while you take care of things back at the home, ok? Trust me, I'm not going to be flying off anywhere without your say so."

She stepped forward and reached up on tiptoe to peck him quickly on the cheek, then broke from his embrace and strode over to collect her things from Jim. "Darn right you're not," she countered impertinently from the doorway before slipping into the stairwell and out of sight.

Jim took a few steps closer to his wounded friend, touching Clark's arm as he neared so that the blinded man would know he was close by. "So tell me, how do you really feel?"

"Not yet," he replied, a finger to his lips. Jim remained quiet and glanced up to see a look of supreme concentration on the taller man's face. "Ok, she's in the elevator, we can talk now." Clark sat down where he stood, turning full on to meet the setting sun, his friend soon joining him. "What were you asking me again?"

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, how do you really feel right now?"

Clark arched an eyebrow. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I'm about a fifty, considering how badly I want to scratch my eyes out at the moment," he muttered morosely, causing Jim to utter a soft 'Oh!' of shock. "But that's nothing compared to the one hundred I felt when I hurled New Krypton into space or when I spent those six months held captive," he hastened to add, trying to give his friend a sense of perspective.

The pair sat on the rooftop deep in thought and the photographer surreptitiously studied his friend's inflamed eyes as Clark struggled to keep them open to catch the sun's rays. After several minutes' silence, Jim spoke up again. "If it hurts so much, and if you're constantly risking Kryptonite exposure, then why do you do it? Why do you go out there and help all the ingrates of the human race everyday?"

Clark looked through Jim with unseeing eyes. "Why do police officers show up at the scene of a shoot-out in progress, or why do firefighters run into a burning building when everyone else is running out? People in these professions throw themselves in the midst of dangerous situations to save others everyday, Jim, and always at the risk of bodily harm to themselves. Why should I be any different?"

"Because you're Clark, that's why!" he cried out, the passion stirring within his own chest. "You're not a…a firefighter or a cop, you're a journalist! You're not getting _paid_ to do this, heck you didn't even sign up for this!" Jim shouted, gesticulating with his hands at the red, blistering skin around Clark's eyes.

The superhero took a deep breath and turned back to face the sun. "I can't ignore the gifts I've been given, and I've been able to do so much good…" His voice trailed off and he smiled, recalling rescues Jim suspected he'd never heard of with people he would never meet. "Besides, after all that's happened these last few years, there can't be _that_ much Kryptonite left," he said semi-jokingly.

"CLARK!"

"What? It's true, isn't it? There can only be so much left from when I landed here and then from the falling debris of New Krypton, unless scientists somewhere synthesized it, which is highly unlikely…"

"Ok, that's enough, I'm putting an end to this conversation right now; it's getting too morbid."

Clark shrugged his broad, caped shoulders. "Fine…but for the record, you're the one who asked."

"I know, and I'm regretting that more and more with every sentence that comes out of your mouth. How can you be so blasé about Kryptonite? That stuff can kill you!"

The superhero heaved a sigh and Jim continued to watch as he set aside his humor and answered him plainly and truthfully. "Because if I didn't joke about it I'd probably never want to leave the apartment, and then where would the world be?"

"Oh." A tense silence hung over the pair briefly before Jim's cell phone buzzed from his pants pocket.

"Hey Jim, it's me; tell him I'm ready for him if he's ready," Lois spoke into the phone, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"Ok, will do." He hung up the phone and looked over at his buddy seated beside him. "I take it you heard that?"

"Yep, every word as clear as if she was standing right next to me. That's what happens when one sense goes—all the others kick in to try to compensate for the one that's missing. The only trouble is that I'm having a difficult time filtering things out like I usually do." A faraway look crossed his face just then and Jim watched quietly, wondering what had sent the gears of his friend's mind churning. "Alright, well…" he said, floating up from the ground and unfurling his long legs out beneath him until he was in a standing position, "Guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Thanks again, for all your help."

Jim scrambled up to his feet and clasped a hand on his friend's back. "No problem, and hey, if things aren't all—_you know_—by tomorrow, then take the day off. Lois and I will cover for you with Perry, it won't be a problem."

Clark inclined his head at where his friend stood and flashed him a smile. "Thanks; I knew you would." And with that he took off toward his own building as gracefully as he could, Lois' voice guiding the way.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**September 15, 2010, 4:21 pm. **Shane and his colleague had cautiously picked their way back to the warehouse after the incident in the alley, taking great care to avoid the police that had swarmed the area where the attack occurred. They were quickly admitted to Uncle's office and stood before him, red-faced and out of breath, struggling to relay their near capture and escape at the hands of the Man of Steel.

Leroy paced before his seated employees, mulling over the very dangerous situation they now faced. Stopping between the chairs, he turned on his heel to face them.

"Do you see my lips moving?" Both young men looked perplexedly at each other before the one on the right nodded slowly. "And you can hear the words that are coming out of my mouth?" Shane simply set his jaw and watched his boss, while his compadre gave another tentative nod of the head; the former was bracing himself for what he knew was coming. "Then why the _**HELL**_ didn't you _**FUCKING**_ _**LISTEN**_ to _**ME**_?!?! I _**TOLD **_you that we were coming under close scrutiny because of the bad heroin, I _**TOLD**_ you not to deal to groups of more than one or two people because you might draw undue attention to yourself, and I _**TOLD**_ you to keep an eye out for Superman!!! So why, since you already admitted to being able to hear me, did you _disregard_ my _**direct**_ orders and bring this SHITSTORM down on all of us?!?!"

"I-I'm sorry, s-sorry Boss! T-These kids, I k-knew them—good customers, you know—and F-Freeze just happened to catch up with me on my way to m-make the d-deal. If he hadn't b-been there, t-then…"

"Then you and your sorry ass would be on a bus to Schuster Prison in three hours time, I know!" Uncle screamed loudly, bringing a hand to his chin and turning his back on the sniveling young dealer before him. Leroy stood silent a moment before turning back to the pair in his office, this time focusing his attention solely on Shane. "And you say that the Kryptonite mace worked perfectly?"

"Yes Uncle, it did. He never saw it coming and he scattered as soon as I sprayed him."

The middle-aged man nodded and resumed pacing in front of them, deliberating his next move. "Very well. I want the containers now," he ordered, thrusting out a hand. "We're burning all the evidence."

Freeze immediately did as he was bid, but his cohort could not. "I…I-I'm sorry, Uncle, b-but he made me t-throw it away; he knew I h-had it on me."

Leroy silently cursed his luck, knowing that there would be no retrieving the device with the authorities scouring the scene; he wrapped his hand around Shane's cylinder, the plastic cracking under his vice-like grip. "Truly incompetent," he whispered contemptibly. Turning to face the men one last time, he added much louder, "You are NOT to go above ground until I give the say so, is that understood? You'll be staying here until this all blows over and becomes old news; you may not have criminal records but that won't stop a man like Superman from seeking you out nonetheless. If you disobey me…" Uncle leaned forward into the face of the quaking man, "Then there won't be anywhere for you to hide, not from him, and most definitely not from _me._ Is. That. Clear?" The dealer nodded vigorously, mere inches from his boss' face, and for a brief instant Leroy wondered if the young man wet himself out of fear for his life. With a dismissive toss of his hand he ordered, "Now go wash the residue off, both of you…I don't want any more evidence being left behind."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 15, 2010, 7:20 pm. **She carefully made her way back up to the roof that evening, carrying some of Clark's casual clothes folded up in her hand. Martha and Jason tried to keep themselves busy, waiting anxiously for his return so they could see his condition for themselves, while Haley simply kept calling out for her 'Dada'. Lois herself hadn't seen him since he first arrived home nearly three hours before and she hoped his time in the sky had done him some good.

"CLARK!!!!"

He poked his head out from behind the wall near the access door. "There's no need to shout, I'm right here."

"GEEZ!!!!" she screamed again, a hand fluttering to her chest. "You scared the living daylights out of me! What the heck is up with you and sneaking up on people?!?"

He shrugged his shoulders and stepped more fully into view. "I'm sorry, Lois, I just didn't want to be seen in case any of the neighbors came up."

"Oh, good point," she conceded quietly. "Here, I brought you some clothes to change into so we can go downstairs. How are your eyes?" she asked, stepping forward and placing the items in his outstretched hand.

He took the clothes from her and spun into them as was his habit, albeit more slowly than usual. "Everything still stings, but it's not as bad as before. I'm assuming they're healing nicely."

"Can you see anything?" she asked hurriedly, unable to judge for herself in the dim light.

"I can see…I can see _blobs_, I guess is the best way to put it. Either way it's an improvement, since everything isn't just pitch black anymore. I can make out your face and that you're wearing a light-colored shirt with dark pants," he told her, stroking her flowing chestnut locks, "But I can't make out any details. I'm sure another sunbath in the morning will do the trick. Now tell me, how are Mom and the kids handling the news? I caught bits and pieces of what was going on during dinner, but not everything. The Kettlemans are _really_ loud talkers, let me tell you…"

Lois gave a weak laugh at his humor and stepped closer to him, drawing her arm around his waist and snuggling against his warm body as she led him toward the roof access door. "Your Mom is taking this all in stride—that's not to say that she wasn't horrified by what she saw on TV, but once she knew you were upstairs she seemed to settle down just a bit. For the record though, our kitchen has never been cleaner; she seemed to work all of her nervous energy out on our countertops, pots and pans. Jason's been zipping around the apartment ever since we finished dinner, trying to make sure all the toys and clutter are out of the way so you don't trip on anything, and I think he and Haley just need to see you for themselves to make sure you're alright. Your daughter's been calling for you every ten minutes—she thinks she can kiss your boo-boos better."

He let out a hearty chuckle as they alighted from the stairwell and onto their floor. "Like mother like daughter then, huh?" Clark leaned down then in search of her lips, and Lois tilted her face up expectantly to meet him; theirs was not a chaste kiss.

When they broke from the embrace, she turned around to open the front door, only to be waylaid by three very concerned Kents.

"Oh Son, are you alright?! It was all over the news and I was so worried…"

"Let me help next time, Dad, I'll help you catch those bad guys, I'll show them!"

"Kiss Dada's boo boos," the little girl cooed from her perch on her grandmother's hip, her chubby arms outstretched toward her father.

"Hi Baby Girl," he said softly, reaching out for his daughter as he stepped forward into the apartment so they could close the door. Martha transferred the toddler into Clark's arms and held her close and pointed to his cheek. "Give me a kiss." She did as she was told, kissing him with a loud smack on the indicated spot before attempting to touch the rest of his face with her tiny hands. "Uh uh, Dada still hurts there, don't touch." Haley looked aggrieved at the news, and Lois took her out of her husband's arms so she wouldn't inadvertently inflict further pain on him.

Next, Clark bent down on one knee in an attempt to be at eye level with his son. "Jason," he said firmly, holding the little boy by the sides of his arms while looking past his eager gaze, "I appreciate the sentiment, but you're far too young to be doing what I do. In the future, maybe, but we'll talk about that when the time comes. What you need to know is that I'm _alright_ and I'm here now, ok? The bad guys will get their due, they always do. Just remember that no matter what, I will always come back to you guys, you got that? No matter what."

Jason nodded solemnly before wrapping his arms around his father's neck, careful not to touch the bruised part of his face. "I'm glad you're ok."

"Me too, Son…me too…"

Lois stepped forward and put Haley down on her feet, holding her little hand out to Jason. "Sweetie, why don't you take your sister to her room and play for a few minutes, ok? Your father, grandmother and I need to discuss a few things, and then we'll get her ready for bed and go over your homework answers in a little bit, how's that?"

He nodded and took his little sister's hand in his, leading her as she tottered down the hall. Clark stood up and smiled to himself as he watched the two tiny white blobs disappear around the corner.

"Ok now, come here and sit down, Clark, and let me have a good look at you," Martha replied softly, guiding him over to the couch. He managed to get there without much incident, only once knocking his shin into the coffee table.

"I'm sorry I can't get you back to Smallville tonight, Mom," he said as she pushed on his shoulder and urged him to sit, then turned on the side table lamp. "I hope you and Ben didn't have any plans. With any luck I'll be able to get you back out to the Farm by lunchtime tomorrow."

"Oh don't worry about that! I figured on spending the night anyway and Lois already called her mother about switching days, that way I can be here for you and the kids while you recover. Now, how badly does it hurt?" He shrugged his shoulders in avoidance as Martha peered into his blank face. Lois slumped into the nearby armchair, mulling over a thought which she wasn't sure she wanted to share while her mother-in-law waved a hand back and forth in front of Clark's face. "Can you see anything?"

"You're all blobs, but that's pretty much it—however, it is an improvement from the nothing it was before."

"I see," she replied, satisfied enough by her examination to leave him alone for now. "Are you hungry?" He nodded eagerly in response, his dark mop of hair sliding forward in front of his inflamed eyes. "Ok then, I made up a plate of meatloaf for you, let me just go heat it up…" Martha spun on her heel and strode purposefully towards the kitchen, too pained to stare any longer into her son's vacant face and see the evidence of what those awful men did to her poor boy.

As soon as they were alone, Clark turned to face Lois, one hand blindly groping about for hers. "You've been awfully quiet," he said as soon as he felt her smooth palm reach out across the back of his hand.

"Yes."

"If you're worried about me, then you shouldn't be, I'll be fine…"

"It's not just that, Clark," she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "It's just…I…I think we should back off this Uncle investigation, at least for a little while." She watched him start visibly at her suggestion.

"Is that what you really want?" he asked meekly, stroking her thumb with his.

"What I want is for you to be safe and free from pain, not like you are now, like this. Whoever this Uncle is you were right, he's definitely ready for you and that scares the shit out of me. No one's been that prepared since Lex Luthor and he was a sick, sadistic son of a—"

"We know what he was, Lois, but that's never stopped you from asking me to intentionally set aside an investigation before, in either of my jobs."

"I know, and I know that if our situations were reversed—that if you asked this of me—it'd just make me go after the story all the more. I _want_ to ask this of you, but by the same token I know that I can't…"

"Yes you can," he replied after a moment's silence spent contemplating on the sofa. "You have every right to ask this of me and I understand where you're coming from. I know how frightened you, Mom and Jason were by what happened to me, and although Haley's too young to understand this now, there will come a day when she feels the same way too. But consider this—if we can't take Uncle down now, who knows how much more insidious he'll get? His presence has been made known just by virtue of the heroin deaths, but who knows how far his reach extends outside of the Slums and into Metropolis? Yes, he is a threat to me right now, but he's also a threat to every other person in this City, not to mention our two very special children. Consider how much more dangerous he'll be if he's allowed to continue his operation for another five or ten more years? He could have enough Kryptonite to cover all four corners of the county by then and then none of us would be safe!"

"I know, I know, but I don't want to lose you!"

He rose up from his seat and slowly maneuvered his way over to her, bending down and clasping her face in his hands. "And you won't, not if we work together on this, ok? But I can promise you right now that there will be no more reckless patrols over the Slums—going blind once was enough for me."

"Hear, hear," she replied, leaning up and into his kiss without bothering to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 15, 2010, 8:10 pm. **"Do you think we can call over there _now_?" Chloe asked impatiently, pacing back and forth behind the sofa with the cordless phone clutched in her hands.

Jim turned around to face his anxious wife. "Honey, calm down, all this stress isn't good for you or the babies. I'm sure Clark is alright. The sun set forty-five minutes ago and if they needed our help for whatever reason, they'd have called by now." As if on cue, the phone rang and she was so startled by the sound that the device went crashing to the ground.

"Curse this stomach of mine!" she cried out in exasperation as she attempted to retrieve the phone.

"Here, allow me." He picked up the gadget easily, handing it over to her by the third ring. She hit the TALK button without another moment's hesitation and anxiously held it up to her ear.

"Chloe, it's me, and I'm calling to tell you I'm fine."

She let loose a relieved sigh. "Oh Clark, we were so worried!" Jim took her arm and helped her over to the sofa she could rest her feet on the coffee table while she spoke with her friend. "But are you just fine or are you _really_ fine?"

"I'm just fine. My vision is still very blurry and my eyes still sting, but all in all I'm better than I was four hours ago."

"Ok, that's good news then, right? I mean at least the side effects don't appear to be permanent or anything…"

"No, they're not permanent," Clark replied. "But listen now—I need _you_ to stop worrying. You don't need this added stress in your condition, you got that? You may be eating for three but you don't need to be fretting for three, _ok_?"

Chloe let loose another sigh as Jim held onto her hand and looked into her eyes, almost as if he knew what was being said. "So what, you and my husband are in cahoots now? He's been telling me the same thing all evening."

"That's because Jim's a good man and he knows when to look out for you. Speaking of which, would you mind putting him on the phone for a second?"

"Sure, not a problem. But be sure to call and let us know if you need anything, anytime day or night, alright?"

"Alright."

She passed the phone over to her husband and rose up from her seat, feeling like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders now that she knew Clark was no longer in danger. _Too bad the same weight can't be lifted off my bladder, _she mused as she waddled down the hall to the bathroom.

* * *

"Hey Clark, what's going on? Chloe says you're doing better?"

"Yeah, but I'm still not 100 percent...don't worry though, my eyes are still in my head. I just wanted to tell you that I won't be able to make it into work tomorrow since my eyes are still in pretty bad shape and I don't want to draw any unwanted parallels. That said, I still want you and Lois to proceed ahead with the investigation; she and I had a talk earlier this evening and I think she might try to talk you into backing down, albeit temporarily, and that's not what I want or what this City needs right now."

"Ok, we won't drop the Uncle investigation, got it," he responded seriously, sitting up in his seat as he listened to his friend. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

Clark went quiet on the other end of the phone and his friend could hear him hemming and hawing as he tried to figure out what to say. "I…I just wanted to say that what happened today, earlier, up on the roof? I didn't mean most of what I said; it was just the pain talking, I don't actually think like that all the time."

Jim paused, unsure of what to make of this admission. "Um…it's ok by if you, well…if you actually did think like that from time to time. I mean, I wouldn't think any less of you or anything, you know? There's so much that you don't have to fear, but everyone's afraid of something and it's good to let it out, you know?"

Both men listened to each other breathe on the opposite ends of the line, contemplating how best to react to such news. "I guess I never thought of it like that before." There was another long pause on the line. "So…what are you afraid of again?"

The photographer answered without hesitation. "Hospitals, and no, I still don't want to talk about it!" he exclaimed, laughing.

"Fair enough, fair enough. Well I'll see you on Friday, Jim—and thanks again, for everything. You're a good friend."

"Not a problem, you just take care of yourself. Good night!"

"Night."

* * *

Clark hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, smiling up at the ceiling with eyes closed, grateful for the support of his family and friends.

Jason zipped up beside him then, a well worn piece of paper in his hands. "Dad! You said you'd help me with my multiplication tables once Haley was asleep!"

His smile widened at his son's admonishment and he rose from the armchair. With a gentle hand against his son's back, he followed him over to the kitchen table, his shoulder bumping into a nearby bookcase in the process. "Alright Kiddo, let's go…now tell me, what's five times one?"


	53. Chapter 53

_**Metropolis, **_**September 16, 2010. **Clark crawled around on all fours in a cleared out section of the living room, neighing like a horse while his daughter sat perched on his broad back giggling with delight.

"Go horsey!" she cried out as her chubby hands grasped onto the make-shift reigns of her father's shirt collar.

He shook his head vigorously and let out a cry of "BrrrrrEEEEEEE!!!!" as he reared up on his 'hind' legs. Martha cracked up at her son's antics and stepped back to take several pictures with her digital camera until a knock at the door called her attention away. Clark promptly swung his daughter off his back and stood up, scooping her up in his arms as his mother strode to the door and glanced through the peep hole. She took one look at their unexpected guest and smiled, opening the door welcomingly for the person on the other side.

"Al Henrickson, it's been too long," she cried enthusiastically, ushering him in and giving him a hug after she'd closed the door.

The middle-aged Lieutenant looked flabbergasted. "Why, Mrs. Kent?! I wasn't expecting to see you here in Metropolis!"

"Come now Al, call me Martha! And just so you know, I was here visiting yesterday and had a problem with my flight back home," she replied, gesturing over to where her son stood with her granddaughter in his arms. They quickly caught up as she led him into the room, not having seen one another since Haley's christening.

"Hey Clark, it's good to see you again, but who's this? This can't be your daughter Haley, she's too big!" Al exclaimed, looking down at the little girl in the red corduroy jumper who was staring at him shyly with eyes that only yesterday mirrored her father's. While Clark's eyes were still a dull, milky white, the green flecks of Kryptonite had been eradicated by several sunbaths as the day wore on.

"It's good to see you too, Al, in a manner of speaking. And yep, this is Haley…it _has_ been awhile since you saw her last, hasn't it?"

He nodded before remembering his friend's vision was still relatively out of commission. "Yes, yes it has." He turned his attention to the child once more. "Hi Haley, I'm Al and I'm a friend of your Daddy's." Clark couldn't help but grin at the ease with which his friend and rescuer spoke to his daughter, remembering Lois' description of how ill-at-ease Al had been the first time he met Jason all those years ago.

"I never knew you were so good with kids."

Al instantly straightened, slightly embarrassed at having witnesses to his softer side. "Well I wasn't; not until I met yours at any rate."

"Al, we were just getting ready for some lunch, would you like to join us? I'm going to make ham and cheese sandwiches on rye if you're interested," Martha asked as she reached over to take Haley out of Clark's arms.

"That sounds delicious, Martha. I'd be delighted, thank you."

"Alright, well we'll just give you two some time to talk. Come on Haley, you're going to be Grandma's special helper." She put the toddler down and held her by the hand, leading her around the bar and into the closed off kitchen to give the two men some privacy.

Clark felt for the sofa and gingerly took a seat before gesturing for Al to take the armchair beside him. "So I take it this isn't just a friendly visit, is it?"

"'Fraid not. I gotta tell you that that footage on the news yesterday spooked a lot of people, including yours truly. My phone must've rang I don't know how many times with people from the old Task Force asking how they could help you out…" He sighed lamentably, thinking back on the tragic events that had brought the two of them together in the first place. "I don't know how you keep on doing it." Al hung his head as he spoke, truly saddened by all the cruelty humanity dealt a poor man like Clark Kent, who strove to do so much good. "I'll share everything I can with you, which isn't much, but first I need to hear your side of the story."

"Ok…" and Clark launched into the events of the previous afternoon without embellishment.

"And you're sure he tossed the Kryptonite cylinder over his left shoulder and not his right? That he threw it towards the camera?" the Lieutenant asked abruptly as soon as Clark was finished.

The partially blinded man shrugged his shoulders and listened as his mother came back out with plates for the two of them. "I don't know anything about a camera—I mean, obviously someone had to have been filming for there to be footage shown on the news, but I didn't notice anything that indicated I was being watched like that. But to answer your question, yes, the man I had in custody threw the object over his left shoulder. Why is that important?"

"We were able to retrieve the item in question when we arrived at the crime scene, but I'll still need you to identify it when your eyes are better. I know it won't be easy for you, but our case has to be airtight when we catch these guys so it needs to be physically ID'd by you and not just by the video."

He grimaced slightly at the prospect of voluntarily facing the Kryptonite before nodding his head. "I understand."

"Clark? Al? Would you like water, soda, juice or coffee?" Martha called out from the kitchen.

"Water would be great, thank you Martha."

"Yeah Mom, water would be fine, thanks." Clark sat there, munching on his sandwich until Al continued his line of questioning. "And you're sure that the dealer you had in custody referred to the man standing behind you as 'Freeze'?"

"Yes, I'm positive. At first I thought he was telling someone _to freeze_, but then he went on about how I'd found his stash and made him get rid of it, and when I turned around I got an eyeful of Kryptonite dust."

"I see…" he mumbled around the sandwich half he held in his mouth to free up both hands as he finished scribbling some notes on the tiny notepad balanced on his knee. He flipped the pad closed and placed it back in his shirt pocket, before taking the sandwich in his hands and munching on the bite in his mouth.

"So, is there anything else you can tell me about what you guys found at the crime scene?"

Al swallowed the food in his mouth with an ominous gulp to find the half-blind man staring calmly back at him. "Clark, I…I wish I had some more encouraging news to give you but I don't. We video ID'd the guy you had by the shirt collar from the cell phone footage and we came up with nothing, he's not in our system. I'll run this 'Freeze' character through our database too, but something tells me we're going to come up empty-handed again. I'd told you that we recovered the cylinder discarded by the first dealer but what I didn't tell you was that it was an aerosol container designed specifically with you in mind; it's a unique piece that no one has ever seen before, and it's obviously not your garden variety type of spray canister. Whoever designed it made it so that, with the simple push of a button, the Kryptonite dust particles inside became airborne and even more lethal to you. The Techs say it's an ingenious design, handcrafted, and my guess is that the second guy had one just like it that he used on you and then took with him.

"The public has been demanding answers and Headquarters' official statement is that the perpetrators of this heinous crime were likely acting alone and will soon be brought to justice. Every beat cop on the Force is in the Slums looking for them, but if they're natives then they'll know how to lay low and not get caught. My _unofficial_ statement is that this is all connected to your Uncle investigation and that you and Lois and your friend Jim need to keep a weather eye open from here on out. This guy really knows how to use his people to hit you where it hurts, and now we know that he's got the means to do it too…"

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**September 16, 2010. **Uncle stood in the midst of the Mansell's workshop, eying the tools laid out on the workspace before him, everything covered in a fine layer of green dust. He trailed a hand idly along one side of the wooden surface as he paced, meditating upon what his next move should be.

Leroy had sought out the privacy of Scott and Flora's work room because he couldn't keep a coherent thought in his head, what with the all whispers from the employees working near his own office reaching his ears. A select few knew to keep their concerns to themselves, but most were downright stupidly vocal about their fears of getting caught—caught by Superman, who he'd spent the last dozen or so years avoiding. _Especially that idiot kid hanging around Shane…he's really getting on my nerves. Here I am trying to keep him out of prison and all he does is sulk about the warehouse complaining that he can't go outside…I should just let him rot in Schuster…_

Absent-mindedly, he stretched his arm out further over the table, until it collided with a tool and he turned to see what it was. He took the object up in his hands; it was about the same shape as a screwdriver, but with a head that was neither a Standard nor Phillip's head…_Is that a…a…a fleur-des-lis?_ Uncle scrutinized the tool he picked up for a moment before discerning that there were flecks of the black plastic melted onto it; scraping the plastic off with his finger nail, he quickly made out F, S and M incorporated into the design.

_NO! No they didn't…they wouldn't…they marked the canisters?!? They branded the canisters and now that the authorities have one, they're going to find the mark, trace it back to the Mansells, and eventually back to me. Why?!? Why couldn't they keep their damned pride in check!??!?_

Leroy allowed himself a moment of panic before breathing in deeply, forcing himself to calm down so he could formulate a plan. The solution was simple: all loose ends would be eliminated—and and he meant _all_. _There will be no ties left to me whatsoever…

* * *

**Metropolis, **_**September 17, 2010. **Superman calmly strode through the front doors of the police station and up to the desk sergeant, startling nearly everyone in the lobby into silence. The minute his sight had been fully restored, Clark had donned the suit and took off for the precinct, knowing that there wasn't a moment to lose with his case garnering so much attention.

"Excuse me I'm looking for Lieutenant Al Henrickson. He asked me to come in to discuss the particulars of my case…" the Man of Steel spoke quietly and authoritatively. Clark didn't recognize the slack-jawed officer behind the counter, which explained the man's shock at seeing Superman. The young man quickly shut his trap and nodded enthusiastically, acknowledging that he'd heard what was said to him, but made no other move beyond that.

"Umm…his office is this way, correct?" Superman asked again, prodding the man gently with his questioning to try and spur him into action.

"OH!" the officer in question scrambled down off his stool, motioning for someone else to take his place, before remotely opening the door to allow the superhero behind the partition.

* * *

Al had been walking back to his office, flipping through the file in his hands when he heard the footsteps of two people coming in the opposite direction. He tipped his head up ever so slightly, and caught sight of a pair of police issue, black leather shoes and a pair of bright red boots.

"Nothing subtle about you," the Lieutenant murmured in the lowest of voices as he dropped the file to his side and watched his friend walk confidently down the hall towards him, nervously escorted by the rookie currently stationed to front desk duty. Clark pursed his lips and bit back his laughter at the sarcastic remark, trying to maintain his characteristic Superman-ly air about him. "Thank you Officer Sabato, I'll take it from here." The younger man gawked at his charge a moment longer before relinquishing the Man of Steel to the Lieutenant's care and walking away. Al shook his head at the rookie's undisguised awe before leading the way to his office. He waved his file gently, "I just have to drop this off and then we'll head over to forensics." Al opened the door with the frosted glass window that bore his name and led his friend inside.

"Geez, it looks like I sneezed in here!" Clark exclaimed before he could stop himself. The office space had grown more overcrowded since the last time he'd been there, though truth be told, he was too preoccupied to notice much on his previous visit after helping the fire victims in the Slums. It was a small and dimly lit room; there were three filing cabinets taking up the bulk of the floor space and surrounding a gray, metal desk that served as the Lieutenant's fourth filing cabinet. Two plastic visitor's chairs fulfilled their duty as the fifth and sixth file holders while using up the last of the floor space. What few awards and photos Henrickson had in his possession occupied the remaining wall space, rounding out Al's work station. Clark considered hovering over the floor to avoid knocking over his friend's carefully arranged clusters of paperwork but decided against it.

"Yeah…sorry about that; although now you've given me a good excuse to use the next time someone complains about the mess!"

Clark's steely blue eyes twinkled with mirth as they darted about the room. "I'm afraid to ask what your excuse was _before_ I showed up." The Lieutenant quickly located the correct pile and precariously balanced his file on top before striding out the door once more.

"I know this is going to sting a bit, Buddy," Al began in a quiet voice, a hand on Clark's shoulder as he led him through a maze of hallways and doors, "But we'll make it brief. Forensics has already dusted the outside for prints; unfortunately they don't match anything we have in our database. They're hoping that once they get the nod from you, they can crack it open and see what's inside, possibly find some fingerprints that the manufacturer forgot to wipe down."

"I understand," he replied, as their roundabout walk came to an end in front of the forensics lab. A quick, warning knock was all the Techs got as the Man of Steel strode through the door alongside the Lieutenant.

* * *

Clark felt the Kryptonite long before he saw it and he winced involuntarily as they entered the lab. The room itself was long and rectangular, punctuated by stations equipped with numerous pieces of expensive lab apparatuses. He studied the men and women around the room as they paused in the midst of their work to gape at him. This was the one division of the police force that he rarely came into contact with; lifting fingerprints, comparing DNA samples, identifying particulates—these were the people who took over _after_ Superman and other law enforcement officials were done. He was extremely grateful for the time they were devoting to his own case, regretting only that he even had one to bother them with in the first place.

He followed closely behind Al as they crossed the length of the room, avoiding the beakers, Bunsen burners, centrifuges and test tubes in use pieces of evidence in other on-going cases, until they came upon a long, nearly empty table. The black, five inch, cylindrical container lay square in the middle of the space, its effects innocuous to all in the room save one.

* * *

Everyone in the lab watched Superman studiously step forth and carefully examine the object they'd laid out in anticipation of his visit. They took note of the fact that he never touched the cylinder and that his face, which had looked upon them with humility and kindness as he proceeded through the room earlier, was now drawn and pinched, as though he were suffering from a debilitating migraine. One technician sitting nearby noticed a trickle of sweat dribble just past the Man of Steel's temple; everyone in the room wished then that they had it in their power to bring him some closure.

* * *

"Have you ever seen this object before?" Al asked after a minute, breaking his friend out of his close study of the item in question.

Superman muttered a monosyllabic answer and nodded his head before searching for the nearest exit. The Lieutenant followed, hot on his heels, and waited until they were in the safety of a corridor far from the lab before speaking again. Clark stood with his back against the wall, slightly hunched over with his hands on his knees as he drew in several deep breaths to steady himself.

"Was it really that painful?" the Lieutenant ventured as he eyed his friend's blanched countenance.

"Yes and no; it still stings, even at a distance, but for the most part it's psychological," he explained with a pointed jab at his head. "Recent experiences and prolonged exposure have made me even more fearful of it and its effects then ever before, not to mention that there's more at stake now..."

Three uniformed cadets made their way down the hall, gawking at Superman's presence, and they were summarily ignored by the two men. "I understand, what with the ki—…" Al was stopped mid-sentence by a horrified look from his friend. "The _kind_ of pain you must be feeling! That's right, what with all that _kind_ of pain!" he blurted out loudly, hoping to cover up his latest faux pas.

Clark closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, grateful that Al had caught himself in time. "Thank you. I think I'm going to take off…you'll keep me posted as soon as you learn anything new?"

"Absolutely; you'll be the first to know of our progress." Then in a mere whisper, he added, "Sorry about that."

"Don't give it another thought." Clark quickly clasped his friend's shoulder and strode off toward the nearest stairwell, zipping zipped up onto the roof and taking off into the afternoon sky of Metropolis for some much needed sunlight.


	54. Chapter 54

_**Metropolis, **_**September 17, 2010. **The rest of the day passed uneventfully until Al sent him an e-mail later in the evening. Clark opened it to discover photos attached showing the inside of the aerosol cylinder once the technicians had finally gone to work on it—his cell phone rang shortly thereafter.

"Hey, I told you I'd call as soon as we got something and we got something," Al said by way of announcing himself once Clark answered the phone. "I sent you an e-mail because, while we didn't find any prints inside, we did find a tiny, strange symbol etched into the plastic."

"I know, I'm looking at it right now," Clark replied, rapidly clicking through the images and viewing the symbol from every possible direction. It reminded him of a fleur-de-lis, but there was something different about it; if possible, he found it to be more menacing, but he couldn't pinpoint why. The petal on the left was sharper, not as finely curved, while the petal on the right had an extra embellishment along the bottom as though it were an error in the pen stroke. Adding to the stamp's oddity was an awkward, downward facing number three at the top.

Al interrupted Clark's examination. "Does it look familiar to you _other_ than it resembles a fleur-de-lis? Our technicians already noted that but they're having a bit of trouble picking out the particulars…"

"No, not at all; I've never seen it before now."

"It's as I suspected," the Lieutenant remarked with a sigh. "Alright, well I'll let our guys here handle it and get back to you if we discover who or what it belongs to. Good night."

"Good night," he replied distractedly. Clark had no sooner hung up the phone then he flipped it open again and began dialing Chloe's number.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 17/18, 2010. **Chloe pored over the internet searches and deftly hacked her way past protocols as she searched for the origin of their particular fleur-de-lis. Earlier in the evening, she and Jim had been paring down the list of possible names when the phone rang and she discovered it was Clark, asking for a favor. Jim had picked up the other end of the line and tried to wheedle her out of it by insisting to his friend that she needed her rest; even though she knew what he said was true, she accepted the assignment anyway, spurred on in her efforts by the quiet pleading she heard in her friend's voice.

Truth be told, she was actually glad to be of use to someone for a change. As her stomach expanded and the time of her maternity leave drew nearer, she found that she was needed less and less…around the office, around the house, even around her husband and friends. Her assignments for the 'Metropolan' were little more than filler, and Jim wouldn't hear of her lifting a finger unnecessarily.

At first she found the overabundance of attention from her husband to be rather endearing. Chloe had always admired Jim's protectiveness of her, and now she found he was an even fiercer guardian of her health and well-being than ever before—he was her own personal Superman, sans tights—but now it was bordering on the ridiculous.

"I'll get that, Sweetheart," he told her the other night when she had reached into the cabinet for the dishes to set the table.

"Allow me," he stated matter-of-factly when she tried to slip her arms into her coat in the morning.

"Now now, do you really think that's wise of you to be doing that given your condition?" he'd admonished her when she tried to lift a bag of groceries from the trunk of the cab.

He'd even hovered nearby during the first hour of her investigation into the owner of the curiously modified fleur-de-lis. "Jimmy, enough! I'm _not_ going to drop into a faint typing away here so give me some room!"

"Well soooooooorrrrrrry!!!! I was just trying to help!" he cried back, affronted. Eventually he gave up trying to watch the baseball game on TV and went to bed.

As the clock neared 1 am, she rubbed her bleary green eyes and re-doubled her efforts. _What I wouldn't give for a steaming hot cup of coffee…_she thought, licking her lips and imagining the aroma of the forbidden drink wafting up her nostrils. _No, not a plain cup of coffee…a latte, tall, with whipped cream…oh yeah…_The computer before her emitted a quiet ding and she visibly started from her java daydream before scanning the page excitedly. Without regard for the time, she hastily picked up the cordless phone and dialed Lois and Clark's number.

* * *

He rolled over in bed with a groan and reached out a muscular arm toward the telephone on the nightstand.

"Hello?"

"Call me Santa Claus because Christmas has come early this year!" Chloe announced cheerfully on her end of the line. He sat up and carefully drew back the covers, careful lest he wake Lois. _It's amazing what that woman can sleep through,_ he mused, plodding barefoot down the hall so he could speak freely without rousing anyone from their slumber.

"Ok, _Santa_," he said, playing along. "Tell me what you've got for me." He could practically hear her grinning as he spoke.

"Uh uh, not until you tell me who's the greatest computer genius you know," she teased in a sing song voice.

He smiled in spite of himself. _Some things never change…_ "You are."

"What about in the world?"

"You are."

"How about in the universe?"

"_Chloe…!!!_"

"Ok ok," she conceded, the mirth never leaving her voice, "Though if anyone could truthfully answer that, it would be you. Anyhow, I got a hit off Interpol, one that was buried and that I suspect the MPD missed; the reason why that fleur-de-lis on your can of Kryptonite looks so funny is because those are initials weaved into the design. On the left, that's an F," she began explaining, unaware that he was opening the image file on his computer even as she spoke. "On the right that's an S, and over the top, that's not a three but an M: FSM."

Now that she'd made it so readily apparent he saw the initials staring him right in the face…_or is it SFM? MFS? FMS?_ "Chloe, how can you be so sure of the order? You can arrange those three letters into…"

"A whole lot of choices, I know, but the FSM stands for Flora and Scott Mansell. They're a father and daughter team based out of England."

"A team?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Well, they were a team until…"

"Until what?" he cut in again.

She stopped on the other end of the line. "You know, I know you're a little peeved about missing your beauty sleep but I should've been in bed hours ago myself, and in my condition I need my sleep more than you do."

"You're right, you're right, I didn't mean to rush you or sound ungrateful. So what kind of a father/daughter team were they?"

"Master forgers…true artisans in their own right but they also dabbled in a side-hobby of weapons work. Mr. Mansell was caught selling copies of some of Van Gogh's master works in and around London about twelve years ago; he beat the rap and disappeared. Nobody's seen or heard from him since. It was thought that they were both lying low somewhere in England until about ten years ago when authorities suspected that they fled the country after his daughter was accused of _murder._"

"Murder?" Clark gasped, now fully awake.

"Actually…" Chloe's voice trailed off momentarily. "Murders, plural. The British police were close to arresting her for the murders of eight London men when she disappeared completely and, they believe, her father went with her."

"What made them suspect the daughter?"

"You're not going to like this…"

"It's 1 am; humor me, please."

"Well, the forensics team over in London was having a hard time discovering who the murderer was until the eighth and final victim. The tip of the knife that he was repeatedly stabbed with had lodged in his ribs and when the lab pulled it out, they found that it bore a unique symbol—the same symbol you sent me. There was a partial fingerprint on the knife fragment that went unidentified but the British police ran the _symbol_ through their database and found it belonged to Scott Mansell; he signed all his forgeries with it in ink that was only visible under ultraviolet light, hence how they were able to originally nail him for all the counterfeit paintings before he got off on a technicality. It was only a leap of logic that the symbol he employed would only be used by himself or another craftsmen he trusted exclusively—like his daughter."

"I see." A heavy silence hung in the air as each stood in their respective apartments, deep in thought. Unbidden, the glimpse of a memory flashed to the forefront of Clark's mind; it was of a single moment during his long imprisonment at the hands of Nick Finneran and Lex Luthor. He'd struggled for months in the aftermath of the event to keep such memories repressed, and now he curiously found himself calling them forth for that one, lingering detail that nagged at the back of his mind. The moment flashed again and this time he struggled to hold onto it, his eyes clamping down shut as he physically forced himself to hold onto the thought.

It was in the first bunker, during one of the first few days after he'd been taken…Luthor had come into the room, sat down, taunted him...then he threatened Lois and Jason…_The knife, it was the knife!_ At the moment of realization the phone slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor, followed by a loud groan of agony emanating from his lips.

"Clark?" Chloe called out through the phone on the floor. "CLARK?!?!"

* * *

Lois heard her husband cry out and was out of bed in an instant. Haley started to whimper from her crib at the disturbance while Jason stood like a sentinel in his pajamas in the doorway, looking out in abject terror.

"Stay here," she warned her son, brushing past him on her way to the dining room, following the light of the laptop. She discovered Clark sitting on a nearby chair, a dumbstruck look on his face staring off into the distance at something only he could see, while Chloe's voice shrieked from the handset on the floor. Lois picked up the phone and watched her husband out of the corner of her eye, as she moved to flick on the light.

"Clo, it's me, now calm down…" she said. "Just tell me what happened."

"That's just it, I don't know!! One minute we're talking about the origins of that symbol from the can, the next he dropped the phone and screamed!"

"I lied," Clark announced simply to the room, never breaking his trance. Lois directed her attention to him, the phone hanging by her side as she crouched down to be at eye level. "I told Al I'd never seen it before but I lied, I had, I just didn't remember right away."

"You told Al you never saw what before, Clark?"

"The symbol…the fake fleur-de-lis…it was on the knife that Luthor used to give me this," he pronounced quietly, holding out his left arm to reveal the prominent scar there. "I was just so angry and in so much pain that I didn't take any real notice of it at the time, but it proves that the Mansells aren't just making weapons for Uncle; at one point or another, they made them for Lex Luthor too."

"The Mansells? Who the heck are the Mansells? What's going on?" Lois finally remembered the telephone in her hand and she brought it back up to her ear, seeking an explanation from Chloe who was far more coherent than her husband at the moment. She lightly covered his hand where it lay idly on the table and refused to let go of him even as he silently processed what had happened to him during his time in the bunker. It took twenty minutes for Lois to be brought fully up-to-date, and by then she recognized that her husband still hadn't recollected himself.

"I think it's the PTSD," Chloe said quietly into the receiver once Lois clued her in to what was going on on the opposite end of the line. "Remember? Clarissa said this might happen. I think that what happened to him on Wednesday wasn't without it's consequences, only he pushed it all to the back of his mind until now when it just forced itself out. That the two incidents are connected isn't helping him either."

"I think you're right," she agreed, moving to wipe the sweat-drenched hair that hung down his forehead. He flinched and jerked away from her touch. "I'm going to get him to bed and hope that some rest will do him good; but Chloe, can you do us one more favor? Can you call Al Henrickson and relay this information to him? Hopefully the MPD will find the Mansells and we'll be able to nab Uncle before this gets anymore out of hand. I don't even give a damn about the heroin anymore, all I want is for this Uncle to be found and for this all to be over and done with."

"You and me both, Lois, you and me both…"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**September 18, 2010. **Chloe awoke later then usual that morning, given that she'd spent an additional forty-five minutes catching Lt. Henrickson up on her findings and wasn't able to crawl into bed until sometime after 2 am. The Lieutenant, in turn, had promised to call Headquarters and have an APB put out on Scott and Flora Mansell as soon as possible, hoping to be able to catch them before a repeat of Wednesday's incident could be enacted.

She sat at the kitchen table eating her cereal and dejectedly perusing the newspaper when Jim walked by in a pair of black breakaway pants and a gray sweatshirt, a worn basketball in his hands.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, catching sight of him.

"I'm going to shoot some hoops with Clark, why? He told me yesterday he was feeling well enough, that his eyes weren't bothering him…"

"No, it's not his eyes, it's…" she paused briefly, unsure of how to explain to him just what had happened in the wee hours of the morning. "Jim, he had a relapse last night."

He clenched the basketball tighter in his hands as a worried look crossed his face. "A relapse? What does that mean, a relapse? Is he sick? Can he even _get_ sick? What's going on?"

Chloe reached over and pulled out the chair beside her. "I'll explain everything, but you should sit down; it's going to take awhile." She relayed the whole of the events to her husband, especially with regards to the conclusions they'd drawn surrounding the weapons used in Clark's imprisonment three years ago with the weapon used the previous Wednesday. "I'm honestly surprised that you didn't hear me scream, I thought for sure you'd think my water broke," she concluded.

He sat there, staring into her face with a shocked expression much like the one she suspected Clark wore last night. Hesitantly, he asked, "Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm not sure…I spoke to Lois not too long ago and she said he's still out of it. He's up and about, but he hasn't spoken and he's extremely moody. I offered to take the kids for a little while but she didn't seem too keen on the idea…"

"Maybe we can go over and talk to him, just to remind him that we're here for him."

She stared at her husband, a tight smile breaking out on her face while a glimmer of tears twinkled in her green eyes. "I think that's a good idea."

* * *

Lois heard the rap at the door and approached it wearily. After Clark's breakdown, she'd slept in a chair beside the bed, worried that he might begin thrashing about from the nightmares. Even after they'd both gotten up for the day, she'd taken to keeping the same close watch on him, never allowing Jason or Haley too near; she didn't enjoy the idea of them seeing their father like this, nor did she relish the idea of leaving Clark alone in case he grew worse, but she was at an utter loss as to how else to handle the situation until a solution came knocking at her door.

"Hi," she exclaimed tiredly, throwing her arms around Chloe as the couple entered the apartment. All three stared at the back of Clark's dark head as he sat on the couch, watching him as he carelessly flipped through the TV channels, their concern for him evident on all their countenances. "I just…I don't know what to do. I can't stand seeing him like this, and what's worse is that I can't prevent the kids from seeing him like this either! That was one of the many godsends of having him recuperate on the Farm after last time; nobody had to see how wretched he was."

"Then let us take the kids and give you two some time together, ok?" Chloe urged, standing near the entryway without taking her jacket off.

"No, I can't impose on you guys like that, it's not fair to you. Besides, what if you take them out somewhere and Jason does something…" her eyes darted around in search of her son as she whispered even lower, "…_super_? He's got a pretty good grasp on what powers he has but I'm afraid he might forget himself in his anxiety over his father and I don't want to leave you two in a bind. No, I can't let the kids go out with you."

"You two go, I'll stay here," Jim offered, never once breaking eye contact with the back of his friend's head.

"Jim, I can't in good conscience let you do that either…I know you know him, and that you know him well, but you don't know what he's capable of when he's like this…"

"All the more reason for me to stay here while you two take the kids out for a few hours. Lois, if anything happens to you, Jason or Haley at his hands, no matter how unintentionally, he'd never forgive himself. The same goes for you too, Chloe—even more so given the pregnancy. Let me stay with him for awhile and see if I can't snap him out of this. I know what Clark's capable of and I know what I'm capable of; I can handle this."

The two women looked at one another, conversing silently with their eyes as to whether or not they should burden Jim with the responsibility of watching over the deeply depressed hero.

"Ok…" Lois agreed slowly, nodding her head. "Ok, you stay with him and we'll take the kids out somewhere. I'll have my cell phone on me though, and if he shows any signs of change—for the better or for the worse—you call me immediately, you got that?" He nodded his head solemnly and began slipping off his jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair before crossing the room toward the sofa where Clark sat watching a college basketball game. "And Jim?" she called out before he sat down. He turned his warm brown eyes on her. "Don't get too close. You have to…you have to remember to treat him like a loaded gun when he's like this." Jim nodded in understanding and took a seat at the far end of the sofa.

* * *

The two men sat quietly watching the basketball game on TV until the halftime show came on. Jim had tried earlier to get his friend to open up to him but when Clark remained stand-offish, he decided to wait in companionable silence until his friend was ready. However, as the halftime show began, an ominous rumbling from Jim's stomach announced that some lunch was in order. He rose up from the sofa and forced himself to adopt a cheerful tone and demeanor.

"What do you say we go to the kitchen and fix ourselves something to eat, huh?"

All he got for his efforts was a subdued nod of the head as Clark stood up and mindlessly followed him into the next room, settling onto a bar stool while Jim poked through the contents of the refrigerator.

"Alright, let's see what we got here…eggs…ketchup…tofu …American cheese slices…milk…butter...what do you say we each have a grilled cheese sandwich, how about that?" Having gotten no answer one way or the other, he took it as a sign of acceptance and searched around for the bread and found a cast iron frying pan and two paper plates as well. "Do you know where the pot holder is?" he asked, looking around as he set the pan on the stove. Clark just heaved his shoulders in response. "Oh right, you don't need one, I forgot; well that's ok, I'll just use my sleeve."

Jim went about peeling the plastic wrap off the cheese slices and stuck them between the buttered bread before pressing them to the sizzling skillet. "So…what do you think of the game? Pretty exciting, right? I bet the Cavaliers will come out on top in the end though, they're looking to have a really great season what with…" he spoke with enthusiasm for several minutes, mostly to fill the awkward void that permeated the air, but also in the vain hope that Clark might actually contribute to the conversation. After a protracted period of time he did, albeit in a very unexpected way.

"All this time the Mansells were in Metropolis, right under my nose and I didn't stop them!!!" he interjected, banging a fist angrily on the bar.

Jim jumped slightly at the outburst before flipping the grilled cheese sandwiches over in the frying pan; as he listened to them sizzle, he contemplated his friend's statement, trying to remain nonplussed over Clark's extreme anger, a trait he'd never seen exhibited before. "Yes they were, but you didn't even know who they were until a few hours ago, let alone that they had any reason to be in Metropolis for that matter; heck, the MPD _and_ the British police didn't even have a clue as to their whereabouts until you and Chloe uncovered it this morning!" He prodded the sandwiches around on the pan with the spatula, before glancing back over his shoulder at his friend. "Besides, how could you be expected to protect yourself against a threat you didn't even know existed?"

"So then why are they doing this to me?!? WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME!?!" Clark shouted loudly, causing Jim to jump into the air at the sound of his friend's deep booming voice. "What have I ever done to you?!?! I could have ruled over ALL OF YOU if I wanted to, but all I do is give of myself day in and day out, so why do so many people try to wage an all out war on me?!?! HUH?!? EVERYWHERE I GO, PEOPLE THAT I'VE NEVER MET WANT TO SEE ME **DEAD **WHEN I JUST WANT TO **LIVE**!!!!! WHY?!?!?"

Jim abandoned the frying pan and stepped forward. Clark could have easily grabbed him by the shirt collar and squashed him like an ant in the blink of an eye and the photographer was well aware of that; however, instead of letting fear overcome him, he bore a look of sympathy and resolve instead. "Because, Clark, while millions of rational people see you as a figure of overwhelming power and goodness not of this Earth, there are always the few-but-still-numerous irrational people who will only see you as someone _not of this Earth_; anything foreign to them is viewed as a threat to their well-being and dealt with accordingly. And it's not _you _specifically…it's what you _can_ _do _that scares the shit out of them—despite the fact that you've proved not only yourself but also your compassion toward all mankind time and time again, there's just no way you can rationalize your existence to a bunch of irrational people."

The fire alarm chose that moment to shriek as smoke billowed up from the burnt grilled cheese sandwiches. "CRAP!" Jim cried out, wheeling around and tugging at his sleeve frantically so he could pick up the handle of the frying pan and dump the charred ruins of their would-be lunch into the sink. Before he could take another step Clark was by his side, lifting the pan in one hand and blowing the smoke out while reaching up to turn off the alarm with his free hand. Jim watched his friend go about such a mundane task in so abnormal a fashion—grasping hot pans, moving at the speed of light, blowing at a billowing mass of smoke with a single breath until it all but dissipated—and he felt a goofy smile tug at the corners of his lips.

Clark studied the black, gooey remains of what was supposed to be their lunch before looking up and over at his friend, then picked up the cordless phone in his free hand. Holding it aloft, he asked, "How about we order a pizza?"

* * *

The large pizza box from Little Italy's lay empty and closed on the coffee table before them as the two guys sat on the sofa laughing.

"So then," Jim said amidst gasps as he sought to reclaim his breath. "So then the teacher corrects little Billy and says 'No, rectum', and the kid turns around and says to her, 'It damn near did wreck him!'"

Clark threw his head back and laughed as though he hadn't a care in the world. "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! Where in the world did you hear that one?!"

"From Ralph, around the water cooler…it's one of his favorites!"

Both men were so intent on their conversation that they didn't hear the key in the door until Chloe, Lois, Haley and Jason all poured into the apartment. The little boy, acutely aware of the shift in the mood of the room, instantly sprung from his Aunt's protective grasp and over to his father before Lois was even able to get the door closed. He stood there at Clark's knee, peering up into the clear blue eyes he'd inherited, studying them intently.

A silent conversation passed between father and son as they stared at one another, eye-to-eye, while Lois stood frozen near the doorway with Haley on her hip. She held her breath and watched in fear, waiting for what might happen. Jason never once broke his clear gaze. At long last he climbed up into his father's lap and wrapped his arms around the man's neck.

"Hi Dad."

His eyes brimmed with tears at his child, this beautiful little boy who had tied him forever to Lois, the human race and his adopted home world. With a wide smile, he held his son tighter in his arms. "Hey, Buddy."

* * *

Jim and Chloe got up to take their leave once it was established that Clark was feeling much better then he had that morning.

"I know I've told you this before but I'll say it again—I've got your back Big Guy. Always have, and always will," the young photographer said as he clasped Clark firmly on the shoulder.

"I know Jim, I know; and thanks."

"Anytime." He moved across the room to collect their coats from the hall closet.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Chloe asked, reaching a hand up to cup part of Clark's face as she urged him to look her in the eye.

"The maternal instinct is strong with this one," he intoned in a mischievous, Yoda-like voice as he caught Lois' gaze. He sounded more like himself in the last ten minutes alone then he had in the last fourteen hours.

"Oh you…"

"Yes, Chloe, I'm fine," he informed her, cutting her off mid-admonishment with a quick peck on the cheek. "And thank you, for everything."

She gave him a sly smile and gently punched his shoulder. "Hey, what else are friends for? Besides, I'll just be sure and put it on your tab; after all, Jim and I have _two_ kids to send to college someday, and at the same time nonetheless!" He grinned at the reference as she slid her arms into the coat her husband held out behind her.

No sooner had the door closed behind the Olsens then Lois found herself pressed against her husband as Clark wrapped one arm around her slender waist and gently tilted her head up to meet his lips; his kiss was desperate, passionate and rife with regret. "I'm sorry," he breathed, brushing his fingertips lightly across her wan face, taking keen note of the dark circles under her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

She silenced him by pressing a fingertip to his lips. "Don't be, you have nothing to apologize for; I'm just glad you're alright now." Lois turned and wandered down the hall to check on the children. Turning back mid-way, she brazenly added, "However…if you still feel the need to ask for forgiveness later on this evening, I'm sure a more _suitable_ means of penitence can be found." She turned around and continued her trek down the hall swaying her hips to a tune only she could hear, very much aware of the crimson blush that was spreading across her husband's cheeks, even if she wasn't looking at him.

* * *

_**Metropolis,**_** September 19, 2010.** Al Henrickson had called for him around mid-morning and he dutifully answered. Now, not even a full five minutes later, Superman stood beneath the pier along the waterfront at low tide, looking down upon the three bodies on the beach: he was told that two of the bodies were that of Scott and Flora Mansell, and the third appeared to be the suspect that he caught last week before he was attacked with the Kryptonite mace. Clark stared at their lifeless forms, feeling more than a little conflicted.

A small portion of him was glad, glad to see them gone from this Earth at the hands of someone else—if he was being completely honest there was more then just that small part that enjoyed knowing that they could never hurt him again. _Justice has prevailed,_ he thought glibly as he eyed the bodies, even as he felt a burning rage growing behind his eyeballs.

_NO, that's not RIGHT!!!! Justice was for the courts to decide, not for whoever shot them!!!_ Clark wrestled with his conscience with each passing minute he spent at the crime scene. He watched mutely as the team from the Medical Examiner's office bagged the bodies and prepared them for transport. _This isn't __**just **__about me anymore…this is about how dangerous Uncle has become, _he reminded himself as Flora's bullet-riddled body was zipped into a bag and placed on a gurney. _They should have lived, if only to tell me his name so I can end this once and for all…_


	55. Chapter 55

_**Metropolis, **_**October 9, 2010. **The investigation that had been dogging Jim nearly every day since the apartment house fire in the Slums in July had been temporarily sloughed away by a day of hard, honest work in anticipation of the birth of his children. With a contented sigh, he joined Chloe in the middle of the room to admire their progress; the nursery was now painted and outfitted with the changing table, rocking chair, bureau, bookcase and two cribs that he and Chloe had purchased and assembled after they'd moved into their larger home. Teeny tiny clothes now hung in the closet and lay folded neatly in the drawers, and bag upon bag of diapers lay next to the Diaper Genie™, waiting to be used by two teeny tiny bottoms. He felt a wave of awe and peace settle over him simultaneously as the pieces finally came into place.

"It looks ready, doesn't it?" he wondered aloud to his wife as she set a children's book down on the bookshelf. "Like the babies could come home tomorrow and we'd be prepared."

Chloe admired the same view. "Yes, it does."

"I feel good about this…I feel really good…"

"Aww, you're nesting!" she teased playfully, flicking his side gently with the pale green baby blanket in her hands. His face burned scarlet and he waved the yellow tipped paintbrush at her in retaliation. "Jimmy!" she yelped, attempting to dodge the spray. Chloe looked down at the mess he made on the oversized shirt that she wore and on the plastic tarp that covered the floor. "Oh you are _soooo_ lucky you didn't mess up the carpet…"

"Oh yeah, what would you have done?" he cajoled her, boldly stepping closer while holding the brush at his side.

"Why I would've had to punish you, of course," she replied slyly, sidling up to him; however, Chloe miscalculated the rotundness of her growing stomach and ended up hitting him unintentionally in the gut.

He threw his arms up in instant surrender. "Ok, ok, I promise never to flick you with paint again! Just don't sic the belly on me!!!"

"Come here you," she said as she grabbed him roughly by the shirt, pulling him in for a sensuous kiss. This was the most relaxed the young couple had been since the Uncle investigation began in earnest and they reveled in the lack of tension in the room. Just then a slow song came up on the radio plugged into the outlet by the door.

Jim leaned back as she relinquished her hold on his shirt and he held out a hand to her, allowing the brush to fall to the plastic covered floor. "May I have this dance?" he asked in a very gentlemanly tone. Chloe blushed and smiled bashfully, slipping her hand easily into his as he placed his free hand on her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder as he led her around in slow revolutions in time to the music while standing in the middle of their children's room.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**October 11, 2010. **"Geez, 1983 was a bad year to be a grocer," Lois uttered quietly as she spent yet another late night at the _Planet_. She sat on the rolling desk chair with her stocking feet curled up underneath her as she crossed off yet another name on the list in front of her. The intrepid trio had spent the last week and a half poking through all the names; only once they were sure beyond a reasonable doubt that the person was not Uncle did they eliminate him from the sheet and the work laid out before them was tedious. "He went through five different cashiers in the month of August alone!"

"Yes, well, thank goodness we don't have that problem," Clark retorted, bending down to kiss her on the forehead before lifting another piece of cheese pizza from the open box beside her. "We just have to find this guy and write a damn good story to keep our jobs." Jim had already left for the evening to attend a Lamaze class with Chloe, leaving the two of them alone in the conference room with their work and their thoughts.

She studied her husband sitting there, eating his umpteenth slice. "Clark, what if we don't find Uncle from these lists?"

"What do you mean? We _will_ find him—the Lucianos know him and this is the only possible way he could be connected to them…"

"But what if we've got this figured all wrong? What then? The only reason Perry hasn't pulled the plug on this investigation yet is because those super-fingers of yours save us at the eleventh hour by typing up something that's fit to print every other day! Sooner or later, the Chief is going to lose his patience with us…not to mention that Chloe's due soon and we're not going to have Jim around to help out much longer."

"Lois, trust me, we're going to find him, and soon. I can feel it."

"I wish I felt it," she muttered under her breath.

"I heard that."

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, October 21, 2010. **He didn't know which way to turn; four months of searching was finally wearing on poor Clark Kent and the optimism he'd exhibited two weeks earlier was beginning to ebb. For the last hour, he'd been staring at a sheet of employees from Luciano's Market dated January 1984 with tired eyes; names like James Tyler, Ryan Osment and Robert Jayne were now dancing before him. His fingers flew over the keyboard in the privacy of the conference room, futilely searching for the current whereabouts of Pasquale Luciano's former employees.

Lois snaked an arm across his shoulder and leaned over the computer. "Clark, Sweetheart, what are you doing?" she asked as she attempted to keep up with his searches.

"I'm back-tracking the old employees, what does it look like I'm doing?" he replied, gesturing to the screen.

"But who are Tyler Osment, Robert Ryan and James Jayne?"

Clark stopped and dubiously looked straight into her eyes. "They. Are. Old. Luciano. Employees. I can't be any clearer about this, Lois."

She stood up straight and propped her fist on her hip, a copy of the employee list rumpled in her hand. "No. They. Are. Not. James Tyler, Ryan Osment and Robert Jayne, however,_ were_. You inverted the names."  
He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the list beside him before his eyes darted to her face and back again. "Oh heck…I can't believe I…I mean I didn't…"

Her face softened as she watched him desperately trying to keep a handle on the situation. "It's ok, I understand; we're all feeling the stress." Lois gestured over to where Jim sat at the table, looking equally frazzled. Leaning over to whisper in his ear, she added, "Why don't you take a breather? Run on up to the roof and clear your head?"

"Do you really think that's what this investigation needs right now?"

"Yes, I really do. You've been wrapped up in this for so long now…tell me, when's the last time you went flying simply for flying's sake? You know how much you love it and how it always relaxes you…" She looked down into his face adoringly. "Jim and I can hold down the fort for fifteen minutes, so why don't you go now?"

He shot her a questioning look from underneath his mop of dark hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Then she added in a quieter tone, "When it comes time to catch him I don't need an exhausted and stressed Superman swooping in to save the day; you need to be rested and on your A-game."

"Ok, ok, I'm going…" he cried out at her adamancy, making a bee-line for the door. "You and Chloe and your concern for my A-game…I always bring my A-game!" he muttered under his breath. Her hearty laughter followed him all the way to the stairwell.

* * *

Clark shed his work clothes on the roof of the _Daily Planet_ building and hovered above the cloud layer over the city, pushing the ambient sounds out of his mind and focusing solely on his own breathing and heart rate. The sun pored down over his face and bathed him in light—light that was never so well-received by any other on the tiny, blue planet. Eventually he lay on his back and floated along over the City, his mind trailing to other, more all-consuming thoughts.

The Uncle investigation was vexing them all; he knew that even Chloe, who didn't officially work for the _Planet_, felt the weight of the search heavily upon her already encumbered shoulders. And even as he exuberantly urged Jim and Lois on with the few leads they had, he felt his own spirits wane and sag as each passing day yielded no clues to Uncle's identity. _Perhaps Lois is right_, he thought as he gathered his cape about him with his hands, _perhaps Uncle isn't on the Luciano employee lists because he was never a Luciano employee. What if we've wasted months of our time on research that'll take us no further than the FBI?_

He shook his head ever so slightly, his slicked back hair pulling downward at the whims of gravity. _I can't afford to think like that, I can't afford to let myself get so negative about this when there's so much at stake. _Clark stood up then, resolving to persevere until closer to Chloe's due date, for he knew that without Jim and Chloe's invaluable help he and Lois would make little progress. _If Uncle isn't in jail by the time the twins are born then he never will be._

Clark dove beneath the clouds, bodily if not mentally refreshed, and decided to head back to the _Planet_ and resume his work. He took a moment to collect his bearings and realized he was on the east side of town, very near the Slums, and directly beneath his feet lay a large, gaping hole in the ground. His eyes reflexively zeroed in on the spot and he recognized it and it's surroundings as the area where the Buffalo Furniture Warehouse had stood before the Massacre four years earlier; the structure had been torn down in the aftermath as City engineers deemed it to be unsound, and no one had bought the property or filled in the gap since. _If I had been here, I could've stopped it, _he told himself as he stared down at the weed-covered construction site. _Then again, if I'd been here, none of this would have happened in the first place._ With a heavy sigh Clark turned towards the _Daily Planet_ globe rotating atop the building five miles off; he was about to burst forth across the sky when a new thought halted him.

_What exactly DID prompt the Buffalo Warehouse Massacre anyway?

* * *

_Lois studied Clark out of the corner of her eye. He'd given nothing but a cursory nod hello to Jim as he passed the young man where he was working at his desk before making his way straight to the conference room; once the door had closed behind him, he began quickly digging through a pile of old paperwork in a very distracted fashion. She'd meant for his flight to relax him, not place more strain upon him. He stopped suddenly and pulled a photocopied article from the center of the stack, perusing it intently. She couldn't make out the headline.

"I can't believe it…" he said, almost inaudibly, "Looks like you two were right to worry about my A-game…"

"Now what the heck is that supposed to mean?" Lois asked dubiously, her interest sufficiently piqued to send her over to his side.

"Look here, in your article you wrote that the Massacre was 'an act so violent as to be the be all and end all in a four year long struggle that tore families and neighborhoods on the East Side asunder'…"

"Yes, so?"

"So? SO?!? That was Uncle's intent all along!!!! Lois, don't you know what this means?!"

She put a hand gently on his shoulder. "Honey, I can usually follow your train of thought but you just went right off the rails before you ever left the station."

"Ok, ok, you're right, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's back up a second…was the last shooting or drive-by _before_ the Massacre? And I mean the absolute last, not the second or third to last, but the absolute last recorded attack."

She pursed her lips and moved back over to her paperwork quickly. "The Massacre was on what, April 12, 2006? Hmm, that's odd."

"What? What's odd?"

"According to the timeline you typed up, it says that the last recorded drive-by was that same morning."

Clark felt his cheeks redden in excitement in pursuit of the lead. "How many fatalities were there?"

"Why are you assuming there were fatalities? Not everyone who gets shot dies you know…" she said flippantly, a hand on her hip as she locked eyes with him.

"Please, now's not the time for games, not when we're this close. How many fatalities were there?"

She scanned the sheet again. "Just one, a twenty-nine year old man by the name of Anthony Pollen."

Lois watched her husband roll his chair back from the table over to the computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulled up an archival search for Anthony Pollen's obituary. "AHA!"

"What?! What now?!?"

"Remember when we suspected Marco Luciano of being Uncle, and one of the ways we were able to discredit him was by saying that he went against the profile for not retaliating quickly after his father's shooting? We know that a man of Uncle's ilk would never have let twelve whole days go by after such a personal attack. What if Anthony Pollen is related to the man we're looking for, perhaps his brother or cousin? All we need to do is track down the surviving male members of his immediate family listed here in this obituary…let's see, there's his father, Jeffrey Pollen, brother, Daniel Pollen…and, on his mother's side…an_ uncle_," Clark's voice dropped considerably as he and Lois both registered the potential of this discovery, "Leroy Russell."

She hastily nudged him away from the computer screen and leaned over the keyboard, searching the City's virtual records database for a birth certificate for the decedent's uncle.

"Leroy Russell," they both read aloud as the desired document popped up on-screen.

"Ok now, that's just really spooky," Jim said as he walked back into the room, a thick wad of paper in his hands.

"What's really spooky?" Lois asked, not bothering to look up.

"That you two knew Leroy Russell was the next name on the Luciano employee list." He tilted his head toward Clark. "What are you, x-raying me for leads now or something? Do I even need to be working in the same room as you two anymore…?" he quipped, but the reporters were too far gone in their own conversation to hear him.

"That's two strikes in favor of him being the guy, Lois; he's directly related to the last person who died AND he once worked for the Lucianos."

"I know, but still, do you think it really would be this easy? That a guy who actually happened to _be_ an uncle to one of the drug war victims _and_ who also happened to have worked at Luciano's Market at some point in the past could be _the _Uncle we've been searching for?"

"What's been easy about this?!" he exclaimed, leaping up out of his chair and throwing his arm out over the great expanse of the room. The conference room that they had commandeered was littered with paper, boxes, manila files, colored highlighters, used coffee cups and chewed up pens. "This investigation has dragged out over FOUR MONTHS! It's not as though this guy just _fell_ out of the sky and into our laps!" Clark paced back and forth behind the computer chair clutching at his hair in frustration. "We have to stop him and we have to stop him NOW! That heroin is still out there on the streets, not to mention all the Kryptonite he has at his disposal…"

"Yes, Clark, I understand that, but we can't simply go accusing this guy of being Uncle just yet…especially when we don't even know where he is." She grimaced as she mulled over her next words. "And you have no idea how much it irks me to say this, but we need to get proof before we do anything else."

Jim finally remembered to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Wait a second—you guys think this Leroy Russell is _the_ Uncle?" His friends simply nodded. "Wow. I mean, I wasn't sure we'd ever find him…"

Clark gently nudged Lois aside and resumed his seat in front of the computer. "Wait one second guys," he urged the two on-lookers as they struggled to keep up with what he was doing. Reading the virtual birth certificate aloud, he said, "Ok, he was born April 19, 1967…"

"Hey, isn't that your birthday?" Jim asked loudly from behind his friend's left shoulder. Luckily, the photographer didn't catch the grim way Clark set his jaw at having the circumstantial connection between he and Uncle pointed out.

"It's not my real birthday, just the day my parents found me. Anyhow, that would make him forty-three years old, well within the age range the FBI profiler gave…his parents' address is listed here as being within the borders of the Slums, and he began working for the Lucianos in—what year is that list you've got there, Jimmy?"

"1984."

"In 1984. I don't know about you, Lois, but it sounds to me like he never left the East Side. Not only that, but…" Clark's eyes rapidly scanned the sheets before him, "I just ran a preliminary CORI check on him; he's clean, no criminal record whatsoever."

She was just about to concede that her husband had a point when her attention was arrested by one of five different screens that had popped up on the monitor. "Wait, what's that?"

Clark turned to look at her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What?"

"There, go back," she urged, pointing to the screen. "That window, right there, what's that all about?"

"I ran an archival search on the last name of Russell; this here is a different obituary. It's for a man named Aaron Russell." He was about to close the window when Lois squeezed his shoulder.

"Clark, take another look."

All three studied the black and white print before them and learned that Aaron Russell was Leroy Russell's father; his father, who died in September of 1984 when Leroy was only seventeen years old.

Now Clark really couldn't contain the ominous shivers that ran up and down his spine and he visibly shuddered. Jim opened his mouth to speak but Lois elbowed him sharply in the ribcage and he shut it just as fast. A silence descended upon the room as she scanned the rest of the search pages open before her.

"Well it certainly doesn't look good for Leroy Russell, circumstantial though the evidence is…" She stepped from around Clark's shoulder and leaned against the computer desk, facing both men. "I mean, it's not as though he wouldn't have been able to find out that Hector Caro was hiding out in the Buffalo Furniture building; it was right in plain sight on the edge of the Slums! And we know first hand how tight that community is; those same people that are protecting Uncle's identity now had to have known that a rival drug lord moved in. Hearing of his nephew's death must have just caused him to snap and go over the edge, resulting in the massacre.

"There's just one more thing that's bothering me: other then applying for a passport in 1988, there's no other evidence indicating that he's still alive. He hasn't renewed his passport or paid taxes, he doesn't own property—at least not legally…"

"Well, if he is Uncle then we need to talk to somebody close to him; not everyone on the East Side must approve of what he's doing," Jim offered, the first wise words he'd spoken since re-entering the room.

Clark leaned forward in his seat once again and engaged his hands once more in fruitful occupation as his fingers flew over the keyboard. "His mother," he said simply.

"What about his mother?" Lois shot back.

"We need to talk to Leroy's mother," he peered through his glasses at the computer monitor, "Rose Russell. There isn't a death certificate for her in here, so she must still be alive. If anyone would know what her son is up to and where he is, it'd be her."

Jim took that as his cue and spurred himself to action once again. "I'll go see if I can track down one Rose Russell of the East Side." He hastily quit the room and returned to his desk.

"Leroy Russell," Clark muttered once the door shut behind his friend. He sought Lois' gaze and she saw the combination of fierce determination and shock that rested plainly upon his regal features.

She reached out and cupped his face in her hands, their foreheads touching. "And now we finally have a name to go with the nickname."


	56. Chapter 56

_**Metropolis, **_**October 21, 2010. **Now armed with the name of a specific person, Jim resourcefully scanned the virtual yellow pages on his work computer and gave Lois and Clark an East Side address for one Rose Russell, widow of the late Aaron Russell. She had moved in with her eldest daughter in the wake of her grandson's death, and was now residing at 768 Darby Street, Apartment 3H.

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Lois asked, arching an eyebrow at her husband after Jimmy had slipped her the piece of paper with the address.

Clark shrugged his shoulders from underneath his gray winter coat. "I suppose it'll have to do. Jim?"

"Sure…no wait, I can't. Chloe has a doctor's appointment tomorrow and I said I'd go with her, but I'm sure if I just tell her why she'll let me…"

"No, you should be with her and the babies, so you can see and hear everything for yourself." Jim looked as though he were about to protest again when Clark intervened. "You'll only have this moment once, Jim; you _need_ to be there. Lois and I will be fine talking to Mrs. Russell on our own."

"You sure?"

Clark clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder as he crossed the aisle to wait for Lois so they could head home. "Yes, I'm sure. It'll be fine."

But everything was far from fine and they knew it. First, there was the danger of Kryptonite in the area. The trio knew that the poisonous rock was concealed within all four corners of the downtrodden neighborhood and, if they were truly right in their hunch about Leroy Russell, he would surely have taken such precautions in the home of his own mother and sister, just as he had with all his henchmen. Clark knew he could tolerate minimal exposure for an extended period of time, but that didn't mean he wanted to subject himself to it willingly.

The second problem they were sure they'd encounter was that of getting Mrs. Russell to open up to them about her son in the first place. It was that concern in particular that Lois and Clark spent much of that evening addressing.

"What do you think are the real chances that she's going to want to talk with us?" Lois asked him as she went about setting the table. The shades over the bar separating the dining room from the kitchen were thrown open, allowing them to continue their conversation as he stood in the kitchen, cooking dinner.

"They're probably not good, but we have to try. Besides, what mother wants to see her son become a murderous drug lord? Surely she'll want to help bring this all to an end just as much as we do." Clark resumed mashing the potatoes while his gaze rested on the meatloaf sitting in a pan on the counter as he cooked it with his heat vision.

"You don't seriously believe that, do you? She may despise what he's doing but that doesn't mean she'll be cooperative! As a mother I know that I would do anything—and I mean _anything_—to protect Jason and Haley, no matter what the circumstances. And what about your mother?"

"What about my mother?" he asked, the spoon in his hand coming to a sudden halt.

Lois put the final plate down and sidled up to the bar, her long brown hair perfectly framing her face. "Think of everything she's done to protect you and your secret all these years."

"Oh."

"Right." She picked up the silverware and turned back to her task once more. "Never underestimate a mother's love, Clark. Never."

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**October 22, 2010. **Now that they were at Mrs. Pollen's apartment speaking with Mrs. Russell, Clark finally understood his wife's point. The conversation was beginning to pain him more than the one he'd had with the distraught parents of the late Mary Elizabeth Isham, the dead sixteen year old drug user. Clearly, Rose Russell was a woman swimming in grief—from her husband's untimely demise, her grandson's brutal shooting death—but most overwhelmingly from her son's own life choices and decidedly downward fall. However, she still wasn't willing to give him up; quite the opposite, actually. She was adamant in stating that her only son was no longer living and that they were chasing a ghost.

"Leroy is gone," she stated simply as her 80-plus year old fingers scraped at a piece of food caked onto the surface of the table. Lois and Clark looked dubiously at one another over the white thatch of hair on the old woman's head as she pressed on, "It happened shortly after his birthday in '88. I have no son anymore."

"Mrs. Russell, we know that isn't true," Lois urged, flipping through the small steno pad in her hand as if she had actual evidence to back up her claim. As it were, she was gambling on the hope that her small performance might confuse the elderly woman and force Mrs. Russell's hand. The woman betrayed no outward emotion, so Lois continued with her fib. "He got a passport in '89."

"Now I know that's not true, Mrs. Lane-Kent. Leroy got his passport in February of 1988, not 1989."

Lois glared in frustration at her husband, mostly because of the other woman's inability to cooperate, but also at his conspicuous silence. He sat in his seat opposite Mrs. Russell and listened to her; her breathing, her heart rate, her creaking joints. All were outside the normal boundaries of the human beings he listened to on a daily basis, but not so much so to suggest that she was lying to them now. Clark finally realized that his wife was tacitly calling upon him to pick up the slack in the conversation.

"How did your son die, Mrs. Russell?" he asked, prodding her gently.

The elderly woman clasped her hands together on the tabletop, wringing them tightly. "My son, he was…" she heaved a sigh to hold back the tears, "He was a smart boy, an incredibly smart boy. His teachers told us he was gifted, that he was a genius, but we couldn't do much for him in terms of an education other then send him to the public schools here. Living here, Leroy…well he eventually fell in with the wrong crowd. That's how it happened."

Clark sniffed at the half-truth, having told quite a few of his own, and quickly recognized that he was being given the run-around. _She's skirting the issue, but I'll follow her lead…_"But your son isn't buried with your husband and grandson at the Star of the Sea Church cemetery."

"No, he isn't," she told him without further elaboration.

"Care to tell us why that is?"

"No, I don't."

He leaned back in his chair, unnerved a bit by her coolness towards them, when the front door opened. A woman in her mid-fifties stepped in, burdened with overflowing grocery bags, and Clark hastened to her side to help her with her load.

"Here, let me get that for you," he said, easily taking the bags from her grip and leaving her to hold nothing but the mail. Under different circumstances, Lois would've smiled at her husband's farm boy charm, but instead she sat stone-faced beside Mrs. Russell all the while willing her to provide them with an answer as to her son's whereabouts.

"Who are you?" the middle-aged woman asked as she caught sight of the two newcomers in her home unsettling her mother.

"They're reporters from the _Daily Planet_, Lois Lane-Kent and Clark Kent. They've been asking me questions about your brother," Rose replied solemnly.

* * *

Renee's heart rate spiked in alarm at the mention of her brother. She'd disliked him for so many years for his choice in 'career', but she outright _loathed_ him after the death of her eldest son; no matter who had pulled the trigger, her baby brother was and always would be held accountable in her eyes. Leroy continued to send her checks twice a month like clockwork, with increasingly larger amounts after their mother moved in and as a new generation of family was born, but aside from this tangible evidence to the contrary, Renee took after her mother in refusing to acknowledge that he still existed.

However, she was wise enough to know not to strike the hand that fed her and her family by talking to two reporters as famous as the Kents.

"Please leave," she said, glaring at the pair in indignation. "You're not welcome here, you need to go."

Lois rose up from her chair and strode over to where Renee stood framed in the doorway. "Mrs. Pollen, I understand why you and your mother would be reluctant to talk to us about your broth…"

"Get. Out."

Clark shuffled up behind Lois and placed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll go…thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Russell, Mrs. Pollen. Enjoy the rest of your day." The door was slammed soundly on their backsides as soon as they entered the hall.

Renee turned her back on the door as soon as she latched it shut and stared at her aging mother, hands on her hips and nostrils flaring. Rose stood up stiffly from the table and proceeded to empty the grocery bags, ignoring her daughter's pointed gaze. Finally, Renee came over and confronted her.

_What did you tell them?! _her eyes asked, brows furrowed together in deep consternation.

Despite their respective years, Rose returned her daughter's look, making her feel more like a guilty five year old than a grown woman of fifty-five. _I didn't tell them anything! Leroy may be your brother but he is __**MY SON**__!!!_

The silent stand-off persisted a minute longer until Renee nodded her head, accepting her mother's rationale. She set the mail aside on the counter and returned to the task at hand helping her mother put the groceries away, all the while ignoring the episode that had just transpired.

* * *

"You give up too easily, you know that?!" Lois admonished Clark as she stalked towards the stairwell. "When we're interviewing uncooperative subjects, you…"

"Shhh!" he strained his hearing to block out the ambient sounds and focused his attention on the two women in the apartment they'd just vacated, x-raying through the walls in the process. Oddly enough, neither said a word, but their gazes spoke portentously of their thoughts.

"What, what are they saying?" she whispered as she watched Clark freeze in the hallway, his head inclined toward 3H. A full minute passed before he walked quickly over to the stairwell, proceeding along as if nothing were amiss. "What did they say?" Lois kept hounding him as they emerged from the building and took to the street, searching for a taxi.

He didn't answer her until they were sitting in relative safety in the back seat of a yellow cab. "You give _ME_ grief about my interview techniques and yet you can't even follow simple instructions! You're so busy flapping your gums over there when I'm trying to listen in and…"

He watched as his wife grew more and more irate, wrenching the hem of her suit jacket in her hands in an attempt to stave off the desire to ring his neck. "ME!?!? How in the heck was I supposed to know that you were eavesdropping, Boy Scout?! It's not as though you had a sign around your neck announcing it!!!"

"And yet, oddly enough, the universally acknowledged sound for silence is 'Shhh'…"

"Well fine then, when I finally shushed what were you able to find out?!? Did they give you a location for where he might be hiding?"

"No, in fact, they didn't. Neither of them said anything—however, a few meaningful looks were exchanged…"

Lois cut him off again as the cabbie swerved into the next lane to avoid an accident. "'A few meaningful looks were exchanged'? What the heck kind of a lead is that?! That's not going to help us find him anymore than…"

Clark had finally had enough of her ranting and clapped a broad hand over her mouth to silence her. "Will you _PLEASE_ let me finish?!? I was going to say that they were looking at each other oddly, _and then_ the daughter put down an unstamped envelope with a check in it. A check from the MDWCU."

"The Metropolis Dock Worker's Credit Union?" she spit out once he relinquished his hold on her mouth.

"One and the same."

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**October 22, 2010. **Leroy stood overseeing the arrival of the latest legal shipment of merchandise through the large, mirrored window in his office when Jacob handed him a cell phone he didn't recognize.

"Yes?"

"A man and a woman, they just left your sister's place. They dressed real nice and stuff…I think they mighta been talkin' to your mother, but Renee threw 'em out the minute she got home. The two of 'em stood in the hallway arguin' about somethin' for a second, then the man looked like he heard somethin' through the wall and he listened real close for awhile before they left together."

"But you have no idea how long they were in there talking to my mother?"

"No Uncle, I don't. I wouldn't have known there was anybody over there if Renee hadn't left the door open when she hollered for 'em to get out. As soon as they was gone, I called my cousin like you told me to so I could get a hold of you."

"I understand. Thank you." Uncle hung up the cell phone without another word and handed it back over his shoulder to the waiting Jacob, who took it and passed it back to the employee. The informant's cousin took his phone then backed out the door, leaving the two men watching over the warehouse floor below without being seen.

"Someone's onto me…"

Jacob's eyes widened in surprise. "The MPD?"

Leroy shook his head slightly, before turning to face his right hand man. "No, I don't think so…either way, we're going to need to beef up our security."

"Understood, Uncle; I'll get right on it." The man was just about to quit the room when his employer called out to him; Jacob paused and saw that Uncle was still studying the activity out the window very intently.

"I think…I think we should plan on going to ground with Shane. It's the safest bet for us," Leroy heaved a sigh and Jacob watched as his shoulders dropped a little. "At least until this all dies down."

The thirty-nine year old man stood in the doorway, clipboard at his side, his jaw hanging open at Uncle's words. It was the first time in all their years of working together that Jacob had ever heard such uncertainty in his employer's voice and it unnerved him right to his core.

"Alright…I'll send someone to collect our belongings and bring them back here right away."

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**October 22, 2010. **"So he's dead then?" Jim asked in confusion. Lois and Clark had apprised him of the conversation they'd had with Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Pollen while he'd been at the doctor's office with Chloe and he still wasn't quite sure what to make of the little information they'd gathered.

"No," the reporters answered as one. "He's still very much alive, but his mother and sister are clearly covering for him," Lois finished.

"Ok…" the photographer scratched his head in puzzlement while his reporter friends looked on. "And how does this factor in with the check, Clark?"

"Well, it's from the same Credit Union as the check Pasquale Luciano received after he and his son were beaten up and, just like the other one, the envelope it came in didn't have a postmark on it, meaning it was also hand-delivered to the Pollen's apartment building."

"Ok, _now_ I think I see where you guys are going with this…so if the two checks came from the same account at the MDWCU, then that means that Uncle, also known as Leroy Russell, is paying his family for their silence too."

Lois stopped pacing behind her husband's back and faced Jim with a triumphant smile. "Exactly!"

The reporting duo watched as their friend sat in his seat for several minutes, weighing all the evidence for and against Leroy Russell being the infamous Uncle of the East Side Slums. At long last he opened his mouth. "I'm still not sure I want to jump on the bandwagon with you guys on this one."

"WHAT??!!" Clark cried out, indignant and incredulous. "This is the first SOLID lead we've had in _months_, Jim! He's the right age, he's worked at Luciano's Market, his mother admitted he was smarter than most of his peers, he has the traumatic past, not to mention that he's lived the entirety of his life in the Slums…"

"I know, which is why I'm like 99.9% with you guys on this one, it's just…"

"Just what?" Lois asked, leaning forward from her perch on the table.

"It's just that we were _soooo_ sure that Marco Luciano was Uncle, and then we suspected Paulo Luciano of being Uncle, and I'm just not ready to damn a man—based on an interview with his mother who's indicated that he may or may not be dead—just because you two are so sure that he committed these crimes. Yes, there are no records accounting for Leroy Russell's whereabouts for the last twenty years, but that doesn't make him a drug lord or a murderer." An ominous silence fell over the room.

"Alright," Clark said softly, after a few moments pause. It was one of the few times Jim truly stood against them in the midst of an investigation, and he admired his friend's recently-found backbone, even though he felt Jim was in the wrong. He did admit, however, that the photographer was right in calling them out in their hasty rush to judgment based on one brief interview.

As if reading his thoughts, Jim then asked, "So where do we go from here?"

"What's the easiest way to get drugs into the Slums?" Clark asked, pushing his perpetually sliding glasses back up his nose.

Lois lifted herself off the table and over to a map of the City posted on a nearby bulletin board. "By water, obviously. I mean, the entire eastern border of the Slums opens up onto Metropolis Harbor; even with border patrol and the Coast Guard, it'd be easier to circumnavigate the authorities by sea then by land or air. Not to mention that there are over forty-five different warehouses on the docks where the drugs could be stashed away."

"Right, and we know that the checks we're _alleging_ came from Uncle," Clark gave an obvious nod of his head in Jim's direction as he spoke, "Both came from the Metropolis Dock Worker's Credit Union, located…" he rose and joined his wife over by the map, grabbing a blue push-pin in the process, "Here. So we stake the area out and see what there is to see."

"Because our last stakeout worked oh so well," Lois added sarcastically before throwing her hands over her mouth in horror, recollecting what Jim had endured at the hands of Theresa Russo so many months before. The man in question instantly threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"Hey now, don't worry about me! As far as I'm concerned about 'last time' you guys found me and that's all that matters; besides, chicks dig scars…or at least mine does," he said with a wink and a smile, showing them once and for all that he harbored no ill will towards them for the serial killer fiasco. He thrust his hands back in his pockets as Lois stood stock-still at the end of the table still mortified by her behavior. "But still, are you sure a stakeout is a good idea in this case? There's bound to be a lot of Kryptonite in that area, what with the washed up remains from New Krypton, among other things…" Turning to Clark, he added, "Do you really think you should drain your energy by sitting near it for a good portion of the night watching for possible 'suspicious activity' instead of stopping definite criminal activity elsewhere?"

"Thanks for the concern but the Kryptonite I can handle, so long as it's a very small concentration and it's not directly touching me. Also, my intolerance to Kryptonite might actually work in our favor; if there's an abundance of it in an apartment or warehouse where we're staked out then my growing weaker would act as a strong indicator that Uncle is hiding out in the vicinity, don't you think?"

"I suppose…" Lois agreed wearily, not wanting to engage in any activity that would put her husband or her friend in harm's way. The one thing they all wanted, however, was for the search to be over. A silence fell over the trio as each pondered what the best course of action would be for them to take.

Clark stopped pacing about the room and turned to face the pair mulling about in front of him. "Well, we're either all in this together or we're not. If we can't agree on what to do next then I'm afraid we're just going to have to give it up. I'll call Clarissa at FBI Headquarters and have her arrange a meeting for us with Special Agent Yeoh; we'd then pass on to him all we've learned about Uncle and see if his team can take it any further. Of course, if we don't see this thing through to the end then that also means that we won't have anything to write about for the _Planet_ until the FBI brings Uncle into custody, _if_ they're ever able to catch him." He watched Lois' eyes narrow into little slits at the mere mention of letting this lead get away from them. "We might be able to pull a puff piece out of it but nothing that would convey the weeks and weeks of work that went into ferreting out Uncle. So what's it going to be?"

He'd expected his wife to answer first; therefore Clark was surprised when Jim rose up out of his chair and stepped forward, announcing, "I'm in."

"What?!" the reporting duo asked simultaneously.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "I've been with you guys this far, and even though I'm not _completely_ convinced that Leroy Russell is Uncle, I still think you're onto something with the stakeout. I'm behind you guys 100 percent...whatever it is you decide to do, I'll be right there with you." Now both men turned their eyes on Lois as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"What? You two knuckleheads think I'd just let you go off and get into trouble without me to bail you out? _Please_!!! Besides, I've got more experience at this then the two of you combined…now the question becomes when and where are we going to start?"

Clark chimed. "Tonight. I'll do a sweep of the area, starting nearest the MDWCU and keeping to the bay, and we'll determine what course to take from there."


	57. Chapter 57

_**East Side Slums, **_**October 28, 2010, 7:13 pm. **Clark paused in mid-air above the waterfront, a bag of food clutched in his hand, carefully surveying the area below. His eyes scanned the row of warehouses below his feet while his ears tuned in to Lois and Jim still sitting in her parked sedan in an alleyway near Warehouse 18. He took another close look then shook his head in disbelief before flying back to the car; landing soundlessly beside the front passenger door, he carefully climbed back in to rejoin the stakeout.

"So, Prowler," Lois started, teasing her husband as re-entered the vehicle. "Is the food still hot? Because if it's not, you can kiss your tip good-bye…"

"Yes, yes, it's still hot," he replied, handing a carton and a pair of wooden chopsticks back to Jim before reaching into the bag again. "But listen, I just took a look at our next target area, Warehouses 1-15, and there's something funny about 1, 3, 9 and 13…wait, what was that about my being a prowler?"

"It's because you're dressed all in black, Buddy," Jim chimed in. "So what happened, did you fail the superhero course 'How to Look Inconspicuous 101'? Because between this and the blue tights, I just don't know…"

Lois snorted with laughter and looked over at Clark, who seemed oblivious to the joke made at his expense. Finally, she ventured, "What is it, what's wrong with those buildings?"

Jim pulled the chopsticks out of his mouth and jabbed them back in the carton, his soft brown eyes leaping from one anxious face to the other until Clark finally answered. "I can't see through any of them, they're completely covered in lead paint. I don't know why I never noticed it before."

The female reporter's mouth fell open in shock. "You're telling me that there are _four_ warehouses coated in paint that you can't see through? That can't be good…"

"No, it isn't. I was scanning the area more out of reflex than anything else, but it's a good thing I did because now we can focus our energies over there instead of wasting time here, which has pretty much proven to be a dead end anyway."

"Agreed." Lois took a decisive jab at her noodles before shoving a small amount into her mouth as she mulled over the new information and their next move. Jim and Clark followed her lead, their eyes darting between her rigid figure behind the driver's seat and the rearview mirror as they looked at one another. An uncomfortable silence reigned for a full five minutes.

"You know, Guys," Jim announced rather loudly, wiping away the sauce on his lips with a napkin, "I'm sure I'm just stating the obvious here, but the way we've been going about our stakeouts hasn't exactly been the best use of our time; not to mention that now that CK's managed to narrow it down to four properties, maybe it's time we considered splitting up."

Clark swiveled around in his seat with an incredulous look on his face. "Splitting up? Are you nuts?"

"What? I've had worse ideas..."

"Yes, you have, but this one actually makes a whole lot of sense." Lois looked over at Clark, her steady, hazel gaze meeting his uncertain blue one. "Think about it; we've already wasted a week together systematically studying Warehouses 16-30, and now you've just given us four distinct targets to choose from! Plus, we won't have Jim's help for much longer, what with Chloe's due date drawing near…"

"Don't remind me," the father-to-be exclaimed nervously, eliciting chuckles from the reporters in the front.

"Ok then, so here's what we'll do. Tonight we'll focus on Warehouse 13; tomorrow we'll get you a rental car, Jimmy, and you can watch 13 on your own while I take 9 and Clark watches 1 and 3." Lois turned her attention back solely to her husband, ignoring Jim's look of shock. "You can use your special bird's eye view to keep an eye on those two buildings; besides, they're closer together …"

"Sure, but I think…"

"Unlucky thirteen? You're giving me unlucky thirteen? What, do you hate me or something?!"

"…splitting up isn't such a good idea considering…"

"…Maybe you're not as superstitious as I am, but that doesn't mean…"

…I think I should keep an eye on both of you, especially after what happened last time…"

She took the chopstick she'd been nibbling on out of her mouth and turned to stare at both men wielding the small utensil in a semi-threatening manner. "Enough! You two are worse than Jason and Haley squabbling over toys! First off, Jim, I don't hate you: it's just a number assigned to a building and a number can't hurt you, but if you're _that_ adamant about it then _I'LL_ take 13 and you can take 9. Second, this is the best way we have of getting a handle on Uncle, and if that means splitting up then that means splitting up—even Jim agrees with me here, Clark—so this is how we're going to work our stakeouts from here on out. Besides, we'll all have our cell phones on and we'll be sure to check in regularly; it's not like we're all that far away if we ever need back-up, so really, what can go wrong?"

The pair of men mulled that over quietly for a moment until opening their mouths almost simultaneously.

"Famous last words," Clark murmured.

Jim heaved a sigh. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 2, 2010, 6:32 pm. **"Good night, Honey," Chloe called out to her husband cheerfully from her end of the phone. She'd been on maternity leave for a week and Jim had been absent nearly every single day; if it weren't for the fact that she joined him for breakfast in the morning or that she felt him when he slipped into bed late every evening she'd begin to worry if she even had a husband at all.

About a week before she was due to finish up at the magazine Jim suddenly began picking up more and more overtime. All he would tell her was that it was related to research in the Uncle case and nothing more, leading her to believe that her favorite _Daily Planet_ trio was holed up in the conference room late into the evening. She wondered if he wasn't really trying to curry favor with the Chief in order to ask for more time off once their children were born but every time she questioned it, he'd find a way to brush her off; Chloe only wished that he was home more often so that they could share a few last quiet dinners together before the twins arrived.

She hit the end button on the telephone and strolled down the hall toward the living room in her bare feet, wearing black capri leggings and an oversized gray shirt. The light from the nursery room windows caught her attention and she turned abruptly, pausing in the doorway to study the shadows the mobiles made on the sunny yellow walls. The whole of the room looked so warm and inviting compared to the rest of the empty apartment that she soon ambled inside and settled herself down into the plush, blue upholstered rocking chair in the corner, her feet laid up on the matching footstool. Chloe rubbed the shirt front covering her hugely pregnant stomach and let loose a semi-contented sigh.

"All that's missing are you two and your father," she uttered aloud, glancing down at her pregnant belly as she spoke. Without warning the phone that she'd placed on the bookshelf beside her rang out.

Chloe didn't miss a beat as she reached over to answer it, her temporary peace broken with the knowledge of whose voice would greet her from the other end of the line.

"Hi Cheryl, everything's fine here. How are you?"

* * *

_**Daily Planet**_**, November 2, 2010, 6:32 pm. **Jim hastily slammed his cell phone shut and opened up the storage closet door the tiniest bit just to see who else was still around. Gil sat at his desk, his tie already off and hanging over the desk lamp and his collar undone. The Chief was also in a semi-relaxed attitude, leaning back in his office chair with his feet on the table, talking on the phone with the door wide open. Lois paced about in the conference room, gathering up a few belongings before preparing for another patrol of the warehouses in the Slums, while Clark was still out on a rescue mission—Jim thought he'd heard on the news reports that Superman was in Zimbabwe, but he couldn't be certain—all he cared about was that his friend with the super-hearing was momentarily occupied.

He felt a twinge of guilt wash over him as he stepped out of the closet and re-joined the few staff members mulling about in the bullpen. Chloe had no idea that he, Lois and Clark had potentially ascertained the identity of the elusive Uncle nor that they were on active patrol of the Slums looking for him; he just didn't want to give her anything more to worry about given her present condition. He stopped by the water cooler and poured himself a drink.

"All this sneaking around is for Chloe's own good, especially now with the due date so close," he reminded himself quietly before he took a sip of water from the small plastic cup in his hands. "No use getting her all worked up over nothing…"

"Getting who worked up over what?" Clark asked innocuously, sidling up behind his friend while simultaneously straightening the front of his suit jacket. Jim leapt two feet into the air, spilling his water all over his gray shirt.

"GEEZ!!!! Give me a heart attack why don't you?!?!"

Clark gave an apologetic shrug of the shoulders. "Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

"We _really_ need to put a warning bell of some kind on you."

"You know, I've heard that one so many times before, but no one's ever actually tried to do it," he teased.

"You boys ready to head out?" Lois asked, interrupting their friendly banter as she approached the water cooler. She had changed out of her navy blue pant suit and now wore a dark green sweater, dark jeans and black sneakers—what she called her 'Who me? look'—while her brown hair was pulled back into a purposeful ponytail. Both Lois and Jim eyed Clark, who was still wearing the ill-fitting, gray suit he'd worn around the office all day.

"I um…I just left my clothes o-over at my desk. I'll go c-change," he stammered, walking away and bumping into a desk for dramatic effect. "Meet you at the cars in ten minutes?" His friend and his wife sighed and rolled their eyes, before making their way over to the elevator bay.

"Ten bucks says he makes it to the garage before we do," Lois declared quietly as she leaned over to push the down button.

Jim howled with laughter, before realizing that he was drawing stares from their co-workers who weren't 'in the know'. Their confused faces only served to send him into further hysterics.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, Warehouse 9, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:29 pm. **Jim leaned his head back against the headrest as the radio commercials droned on and on. His evenings were beginning to meld into a pattern of mind-numbing tedium that he had no way of rectifying…_Not until we find Uncle, anyway_. _God, I miss spending time with Chloe_.

His thoughts turned to his wife and unborn children as his hands fiddled about with the pair of night vision goggles that Lois had lent to him; he gave a good yank on the head strap in frustration when a mechanical beeping noise startled him back to full consciousness. The pre-programmed alarm on his cell phone had gone off, reminding him once again that it was time to check in with Lois.

He picked up the cell phone in the cup holder beside him and reflexively hit the re-dial button. "Hey, it's me…nope, nothing going on here. Again. You hear from CK? Nothing there either? Figures…No, no, I didn't say anything…Ok, call you back in half an hour. Bye."

Jim pulled the phone away from his ear and turned the volume off, snapping the device shut unceremoniously when he was through. _Might as well actually __do__ some surveillance work while I'm out here_, he thought to himself laconically as he pulled the goggles back on over his head. And just as he had for the past several evenings, Jim found himself once again staring at a green-tinged landscape of inactivity; but only for a minute.

_Ok, now THAT looked like someone's head and shoulders…let's see if they come back or if I'm just chasing shadows here…_.

He leaned forward slowly and carefully against the steering wheel and adjusted the lens to focus in on the spot along the docks on the opposite side of the warehouse. There it was again, movement, and it was definitely a man's torso that paced back and forth in an impatient watch. Several steel drums and crates blocked his vision, and for a moment the man dropped out of sight—that's when Jim saw the tugboat silently positioning itself along the waterfront behind Warehouse 9. _Ok, ok_, he told herself in an effort to calm down his fluttering nerves. _This in itself isn't very noteworthy…even if it is __**extremely**_ _suspicious. There has to be more going on here…but why are they doing their work in the dark?_ He watched as a flimsy wooden gangplank was lowered and ten men and women came out from the back of the building, stepping aboard and joining the four unsavory-looking crew members who were milling about above deck

The workers quickly broke off into teams of two and began methodically carrying the medium-sized wooden crates into the warehouse. Jim lifted the goggles up off his face and checked his watch again. _A tugboat wasn't designed to transport goods, especially at this late hour. I need to get inside and see what's going on before I report to CK and Lois; after all, there may not be much to report._ He flung the goggles onto the passenger seat beside him and grabbed his well-worn black camera case before pulling the key out of the ignition. These items, along with the cell phone tucked into his pants pocket, were the only tools he carried as he stealthily made his way to the unprotected entrance near the front of the building. After a quick glance on either side, Jim checked the knob only to find the door unlocked; he quickly slipped inside and hid behind a large, wooden packing crate before he had a chance to be detected.

The place was well-lit and had several large, steel shelves reaching from the floor to the ceiling some thirty feet above his head; most of the space on those shelves was filled with crates bearing packing labels identifying the contents inside, as well as instructions such as "Fragile" or "This End Up". Jim kept his eyes trained on the door at the rear of the warehouse, watching as the workers shuffled in two-by-two carrying the cumbersome packages carefully in their arms as they made their way over to a basement entrance forty feet in front of where he sat in hiding. _A basement! _he thought to himself wryly as he studied the movement before him._ Is there some kind of villain's code where you have to have an underground bunker?! _He frowned as he sat hunched over and silent, deciding on his next move.

The next ten minutes were spent watching the crew meticulously work at unloading the tugboat outside; when their task was completed, they closed the metal cellar doors behind them and crossed the warehouse floor, coming within a hair's breadth of Jim's location. Using the front entrance, they exited the premises and emerged out on the streets of the Slums with large sums of cash in hand. The last man out turned the master switch off, plunging the place into darkness.

That is, until Jim's eyes adjusted and he saw the thin sliver of yellow light streak across the cement floor, poking out from the crevices of the cellar door…

* * *

_**East Side Slums, Warehouses 1 and 3, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:31 pm. **Clark shook his head as he listened in on Jim and Lois' cell phone conversation, his head inclined in the direction of where their cars lay.

"Hey, it's me," Jim's voice rang out from the ground, half a mile away.

"I know it's you, who else would it be?" came Lois' rejoinder. "Anything going on where you are?"

"Nope, nothing going on here. Again. You hear from CK?"

"Yeah, he stopped by here a minute ago. All's quiet on the East Side tonight."

"Nothing there either? Figures…" Clark chuckled to himself as he continued eavesdropping, missing Lois's retort. "No, no, I didn't say anything," came Jim's rejoinder.

He heard Lois heave a sigh. "Uh huh, alright, talk to you in thirty."

"Ok, call you back in half an hour. Bye."

He listened as Lois tossed her cell phone aside while Jim fiddled with his before tucking it away; the creaking of leather signified Jim sinking further into his seat. Clark straightened his head back up and shifted position, one red-booted foot lifting slightly above the other as he hovered in mid-air, a mile above the two locations he was assigned to watch over. Inhaling deeply, he tucked his chin into his chest and stared through the thin cloud layer at the two buildings that had been troubling his super-charged senses for the last five days, and whose potential inhabitant had been vexing him for the last five months.

_Scanning 1 and…nothing. Big surprise! Now scanning 3…MORE NOTHING! Great, this is just great,_ he thought smugly, running a hand exasperatedly through his hair and mussing up his curl in the process. Clark straightened up again, his hands forming tight fists at his sides, and closed his eyes.

The slow, easy cadence of the waves as they lapped along the docks reached him first, lulling him into a false sense of calm. He expanded his hearing after a minute, allowing it to move further into the City. A taxi's horn on Greenleaf St., a patron's fork scraping the bottom of the plate in a Middle Eastern restaurant, a young couple shouting at one another in the middle of Siegel Park…all these sounds, magnified a million times over (as if Metropolis chose this very evening to test the extent of his auditory abilities) assaulted his sensitive ears.

Next, he struggled to pick up Jason and Haley's heartbeats above the din; their heartbeats, along with those of their mother and grandmother, when she was nearby, always soothed his agitated mind. _Good, Haley's asleep and it doesn't sound like she gave Mrs. Culpepper any problems._ Clark smiled to himself at the thought of his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib while his mind drifted next to his son. _And Jason is brushing his teeth without having to be told ten times. Good, good._

The squeal of rubber, crunching metal and breaking glass interrupted his intense concentration on his children and Clark's eyes flew open, his head jerking toward the sound of the disturbance. The sound of more twisting metal followed, along with several screams and choice curses and shouts, and his eyes slowly peeled away the buildings between him and the Hurlihey bridge where there appeared to be a massive pile-up in progress, spanning at least half the length of the overpass. It was a messy situation, given the location, and Superman's assistance was needed.

He took off toward the crash site, but not before giving the barren buildings at his feet one last, lingering look—after that his attention was focused solely on tending to the needs of the accident victims before beginning the clean-up effort.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, Warehouse 13, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:40 pm. **Lois sat in her car in a dark alleyway, fifty yards away from the warehouse, with a pair of night vision goggles on her head and a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. The goggles were one of a set which the General had presented to her as a gift on her twenty-third birthday, shortly after she joined the _Planet_ staff full-time; all these years later she was still using them and considered them to be the best present she'd ever gotten from her father. _Even though they're old and he probably picked them up out of some surplus bin on Base, _she mused as she re-adjusted the lens for the umpteenth time, _It shows that he cared_.

All had been quiet along her patch of waterfront for the last several days—in fact, neither she nor Jim nor Clark had witnessed much activity at all surrounding the four lead-coated warehouses since they began their watch; it was almost a if the buildings _knew_ they were under surveillance and were purposefully tempering their behavior lest they get caught.

The long nights, the bad food, the excessive time spent away from her husband and children and the lack of progress were all beginning to take their toll.

She felt a yawn coming on and tilted her head against the window, the tiredness seeping into her bones. _When did I get so old?_ Lois asked herself, depositing her sandwich in the cup holder as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth. _I remember when all-nighters were a piece of cake for me! Maybe I just need more caffeine…

* * *

**Warehouse 9 Basement, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:51 pm. **Shane had been reclining in his seat, feet up on a worn metal desk and eyes half-closed with sleep when the alarm bell for the warehouse floor sounded. Snapping awake, he turned his attention to the monitors before him and he saw a young man dressed in dark clothing steal across the floor, making his way to the entrance of the subterranean compartment. Freeze practically fell out of his chair in shock at the intrusion and watched incredulously as the man reached down and pried back one of the metal doors before descending down the staircase; he grabbed the portable monitor and shoved it into his sweatshirt pocket as he bolted from the room to warn Uncle and Jacob of the breach.

* * *

_**Warehouse 9 Basement, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:55 pm. **Jim crept down the stairs and along the cinderblock wall of the well-lit basement, trying to make sense of his surroundings all the while keeping an eye out for Kryptonite. He had expected to find a simple storage cellar, not a labyrinth, and he struggled to keep track of where the exit was located as the hallways branched off before him, taking him deeper and deeper underground. At the first door he came across he hesitated, hand on the handle, listening for whoever might still be inside; someone had to have been there to oversee the workers who left not even five minutes earlier. When he didn't hear any noises, he opened the simple, pine door just wide enough to poke his head in.

The smell alone alerted him to the presence of the marijuana, and he exhaled sharply at the sight of all the crates stacked about in the room. _BINGO! _he thought to herself with no small amount of joy, _This HAS to be Uncle's base of operations! Finally, we found it!!!_ Jim pulled his camera out of its case and wrapped it around his neck, taking several quick pictures before ducking back out into the hallway and closing the door noiselessly behind him.

Some fifteen yards away and along the opposite wall was another pine door that arrested his attention. He entered that room too, and was greeted with a wholly different sight; at least seven wooden crates lay partially opened in the space, in-between four long tables laden with scales, plastic bags, and lighters. Three short rows of metal shelving units laden with cardboard boxes full of packaged product stood in the back corner, facing toward a second entrance to the room—all were properly labeled and organized by date. There was also a four foot tall stack of pre-fabricated boxes waiting to be filled located near the last of the shelving units. Jim stepped forward into the room and closed the door behind him, knowing he'd want to take his time examining its contents.

_This looks like a packaging center of some kind…Clark and the FBI profiler were right, Uncle is smart if he cut out the middle man like this. _He peered into one of the nearby crates and saw several clear, sealed, gallon-sized bags of sand-colored powder sitting inside. _Heroin; God that's enough to kill a whole village! _he gasped quietly, his mouth falling open in surprise at the large quantity. _I wonder if this batch is tainted with the unknown element that's been killing all the users…_

His brown eyes darted about the room as he pondered cutting into one of the bags and taking a small sample with him for Clark to test; as soon as he realized how messy it would be, he abandoned the idea, reasoning that once the FBI had been called in that they would be able to test the drugs for themselves. Jim moved over to one of the folding tables and began snapping more pictures as he studied the packaging process further; he was thinking of what the Chief would have to say when he saw the gold mine he'd brought him when his ears perked up at the sound of footfalls moving down the hallway in his direction. He froze in panic for a split second before darting for the light switch, flipping it into the off position, and hiding behind the flimsy barrier provided by the stack of empty boxes in the back corner.

* * *

_**Warehouse 9 Basement, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:53 pm. **"Are you certain you saw the man come down into the basement?" Uncle asked, his tone was cold and unwavering as he stood staring straight ahead at the bookcase in his office.

His back may have been turned to them, but Jacob could tell by his Boss' demeanor that the news was not sitting well. This was the first time that security had been breached this badly in all the years that they'd worked together.

"How long ago was the intruder seen?"

"Not more than two minutes ago, Sir," Shane responded automatically. "And he was by himself." His eyes flitted back and forth between Jacob's face and Uncle's back, the only physical sign of the amount of alarm bubbling within him.

After what felt like an eternity, Leroy turned around to face them, muttering quietly under his breath, "Good, he's alone." Then, in a louder voice, he added, "Subdue the intruder and bring him back to me. I want to find out who he is, who he works for, how much he knows and who else knows he's here. Is that clear?!" The two of them nodded before turning to quit the room.

Jacob made straight for his desk with Shane following hot on his heels. Reaching into the bottom left hand drawer, he pulled out a bottle of chloroform, a small handful of gray-white rags, and several plastic cinch-tie handcuffs; the latter he stuffed unceremoniously into his back pocket before turning his eyes to Shane as he moistened the rags with the chloroform. Jacob left the 9 millimeter gun in the drawer.

"Where is he now?" he inquired of the young man gruffly.

Freeze pulled the monitor out of his pocket, twisting the dial before a black and white image appeared on-screen. The view changed every five seconds and the two men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, trying to discern the intruder's whereabouts.

"There!" Shane cried out, pointing at the door that had just closed on-screen. "He just went into the packaging room."

"Good. Now let's move."

* * *

_**Warehouse 9 Basement, **_**November 2, 2010, 8:59 pm. **The door he had entered from just a few minutes earlier was nudged open, and light from the hallway flooded the darkened space. Jim's breath hitched in his throat as he grabbed his knees tighter, condensing his frame even smaller behind the boxes. He watched through a chink in his cover, his brown eyes wide with fear, as a hand groped about blindly for the light switch and flipped it on.

"Anything look out of place to you?" an authoritative voice asked. He didn't dare move to try and get a better glimpse of whoever spoke.

"No, nothing. He must've already left…" a younger voice answered. Just then the second man came into view, pulling a device out of his sweatshirt pocket and staring intently at the screen. Jim heard the footfalls of the unseen man step closer toward the center of the room.

"He probably snuck out on our way over here. We should see if he's still on the premises or if he's doubling back toward the exit. If he's already gone, then Uncle will…"

The shrill beeping of Jim's cell phone alarm emanated from his pants pocket and he stared down at it in horror, his heart dropping to the pit of her stomach. _I put it on silent! I thought I put it on silent! Shit, shit, __**SHIT**__! _he screamed, mentally cursing himself as he scrambled to turn off the phone in the vain and naive hope that the two men hadn't heard the beeping. The two men barreled down upon him, knocking back the feeble box blockade and towering over his crouched form menacingly.

Ever on the defensive, Jim sprang up to attack, delivering a swift punch to the gut of the man in the hooded sweatshirt before he felt a beefy hand and muscular arm wrap itself around his mouth and nose, pressing a damp cloth against his face. This second assailant had enough presence of mind to keep Jim at arm's length so as to minimize the damage as the young photographer thrashed about wildly, his camera digging into his chest as he struggled to free himself. He was able to drive his elbow hard into the chest of his second attacker and claw at the man's arms before the haze began to take hold, making the room swirl and split in two in front of his eyes until he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jacob gripped the limp young man under his arms and dipped to one knee before depositing him on the cold concrete floor. He got up, dusted himself off and took stock of his bloodied hands and arms before looking over at Shane as he tried to catch his breath. The older man pulled the cuffs from his back pocket and flung them at his stunned comrade, then reached for the two-way radio clipped to his belt.

"Cinch the wrists…and make sure they're good and tight; this one's a fighter," he instructed before the radio in his hands crackled to life.

"_Yes?_"

"It's done. We'll be bringing him to you in a few minutes."

"_Good._"


	58. Chapter 58

_**East Side Slums, Warehouse 13, **_**November 2, 2010, 9:08 pm. **Lois awoke with a start and peered at the clock on the dash as she languidly reached for her cell phone. _Is that 9:00 or 9:08…?_ She peered down at the light blue screen and saw that not only had she NOT missed any calls, but that both Clark and Jim were eight minutes late checking in. Now fully awake, Lois hit the re-dial button only to be immediately connected to Jim's voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Jim's phone. I'm not here right now so leave a message at the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!" his voicemail answered her perfunctorily in Jim's cheerful tone.

"This is _sooooo_ not good," she muttered under her breath as she turned the key in the ignition, not wanting to waste another precious minute.

* * *

_**Warehouse 9 Basement, **_**November 2, 9:02 pm. **Jacob gave Freeze the once over as the intruder's cell phone alarm continued beeping from his pocket as he lay prone on the floor. "Well?"

The young man looked up at his comrade, pushing his black bangs out of his eyes with a look of confusion clearly written on his face. "What?"

"Aren't you going to turn that damn thing off?"

"Oh yeah, right." Shane let the prisoner's cuffed arms drop to the floor again as he searched for the beeping phone, powering it down before it's alarm could annoy Jacob any further.

* * *

**9:12 pm. **Lois pulled up alongside the rental sedan after calling Clark for the umpteenth time and getting no response…_but at least __his__ cell phone is still ringing,_ she told herself as she dropped her phone in the cup holder and got out to inspect Jim's car. Motherhood had done nothing to take the Mad Dog Lane-Kent out of her, but it had certainly made her much more observant and cautious then she'd been in times past, and she studied her friend's car closely for signs of an altercation. The keys were missing from the ignition and his camera case was gone, two clear indicators that he'd left the vehicle of his own accord. She looked straight ahead at the warehouse he was supposed to be monitoring and a cold sense of dread crept over her as she stared at the lifeless landscape; her hands shook as she reached for her cell phone once more and resumed calling her husband.

"Clark…ugh, where are you?!?" she hissed, her face contorted with worry. _Of all times to be called away…

* * *

_**9:19 pm. **Clark landed with a dull thud beside Lois' car, knocking on the glass just as she caught sight of him and all but bolted from the car.

"I heard you calling me, what's going on?" Clark took a quick look from side to side, searching for his friend. "If Jimmy catches you on his turf…" he began teasingly.

Lois cut him off. "Jim missed his 9 o'clock check-in, and that's not like him; he's been calling me every half hour ON the half hour without fail since we started this crazy mission and I just know something's wrong. I think…" She paused, and worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I think…"

"You think what?"

"I think he's gotten in over his head this time, Clark. I think that he saw something and somehow he's gotten himself into a whole lot of trouble and it's up to us to get him out," she responded matter-of-factly, compartmentalizing her emotions for the time being in order to remain focused on finding her friend.

She watched as he turned away from her, his anguished face peering down the alley toward the lead-lined warehouse as the realization of Jim's dire predicament hit home. He took a deep breath before narrowing his eyes in steely resolve, as if by sheer force of will he could make himself see inside.

"I can't wait for the authorities, Lois. If what you suspect is true then he's been gone too long as it is," he told her curtly, not meeting her worried gaze.

Lois dropped her chin to her chest, nodding in agreement almost imperceptibly. "I know."

"Call Clarissa, tell her what we've found and see if she can't get a hold of Agent Yeoh."

Clark took a step forward toward the warehouse when he felt Lois' hand grab his forearm. "Come back to me, Clark. You and Jim both."

It was then that he turned to face her and he nearly melted under her teary-eyed hazel gaze. "We will," he whispered back before striding to the side entrance of the warehouse.

He twisted the knob sharply in his large hand, leaving deep indentations where his fingers wrenched the metal and effectively broke the internal locking mechanism. The interior was unlit save for an open basement door and he knew that it was the only place Jim could be—he wouldn't have run off anywhere else without provocation or warning—and so, without another moment's hesitation, Clark plunged into the darkness after his friend.

* * *

_**Warehouse 9 Basement, **_**November 2, 9:10 pm. **"The _Daily Planet_? Interesting…" Uncle announced in a low voice, the press pass clasped in his large hand as he glanced over his unconscious captive laying a stone's throw away from his office.

"Yes Sir, he appears to be a photographer for them," Jacob reported, waving the digital camera in front of him.

Leroy peered down at the pass to see the young man's smiling face staring back at him. "James Olsen…looks like our preparations won't be for naught…"

"Sir?" Uncle's second-in-command asked a little nervously.

"Yes?"

"What do you want…I mean, what is it that you would like us to do with him?"

Shane and Jacob watched as Uncle sauntered over behind his desk, then casually sat back in his chair and picked up a pen. "I think you should wake our guest up before his friend arrives," he said dismissively before returning to his work.

The two cohorts looked at one another in confusion as to what friend Uncle could be referring to before scuttling over to the side entrance. "Yes Sir."

* * *

**9:20 pm. **Fear of the unknown—that was what had become Clark Kent's third biggest weakness in life, preceded only by the fear of losing his loved ones and exposure to Kryptonite—and it was into the unknown that he now found himself plunging without hesitation. He knew that Uncle would be ready and waiting for him—along with a seemingly endless supply of noxious green rock—but he couldn't leave Jim to face such a cruel fate, not when life had so much in store for him. Clark's extremities trembled with adrenaline as he sped down the steps and past the threshold that marked the warehouse's basement, his head warring with his heart over the consequences that might arise due to his hasty actions. The only thing he didn't fear was his ability to get Jim to safety, and as swiftly as possible.

* * *

**9:18 pm. **Shane crouched down next to their unconscious captive, a bottle of smelling salts in his hand, while Jacob stood against the opposite wall eying him intently. He brought the bottle underneath the man's nose, waving it back and forth until he stirred from his chloroform-induced stupor.

* * *

With a final whiff, Jim's eyes popped open and his head jerked back as the sharp, tangy scent finally hit him. The crack of his skull as it hit the concrete was heard round the room and Jim cursed aloud, trying to bring his hands up to the fresh bruise he'd created only to discover that they were tied together at the wrists. The plastic cinch ties were cutting into his flesh and he looked up only to lock eyes with the two men who'd subdued him.

Using his feet, he pushed himself up against the wall and stood weakly against the cement blocks that were supporting him. Shane made a move forward to help him and the photographer thrashed about as he tried to land a blow on his captor.

"Now now, none of that," the older man intoned, his voice cold and deadly serious.

"You won't get away with this, Uncle," Jim replied defiantly. "My friends know where I am and why I'm here; they're probably sending in reinforcements right now." The younger man's eyes darted from the photographer to his comrade and back again from underneath the hood of his dark blue sweatshirt, an odd, annoying smirk on his face. "What?!" Jim cried out furiously.

"You got it all wrong, he isn't…"

"That's enough!" the older man snapped before the three occupants of the room all twisted around at the sound of splintering wood.

* * *

Clark felt the presence of the Kryptonite the moment he burst into the office, and he swung his head about like a mad man as he searched for the lethal rock. There was one baseball-sized hunk of it sitting on the desk a few feet in front of him in the room, but the level of discomfort he was feeling informed him that there was a much larger concentration present. Wherever it was, it was hidden from his sight for the time being and Clark became too focused on the pain seeping into his joints with its dull, familiar ache to look for it. He clamped down on his jaw, determined not to let his uneasiness show to the man who remained casually seated behind the table.

"Hello Superman; we meet at last," the man announced pleasantly as he moved to the front of his desk and leaned casually against it.

Clark's cobalt eyes narrowed into slits. "Yes we do, _Uncle_," he replied, spitting out the name as if it were poison on his lips. "Or would you prefer that I call you by your given name, Leroy?"

The drug lord let out a quick, haughty laugh. "Very good! And here I thought I'd had anonymity on my side these last twenty years."

"Not any longer you don't," Clark replied, stepping forward ominously his hands clenched into fists, itching to grab the man roughly by his shirt collar. "Your reign of terror ends tonight. The authorities are on their way to collect you even as we speak."

"Reign of terror, you say? My, my, what a _way_ with words! You really should have become a writer instead of a superhero; me, of course, well I had no say in the matter of my career, but I could hardly say that I've been terrorizing anyone or I wouldn't have lasted nearly this long." The Man of Steel gave in and grabbed Uncle by the collar, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground. "Uh uh uh, none of that now," Leroy said smugly as he raised his left hand letting a _Daily Planet_ press pass with a familiar red lanyard dangle from his thick fingers; Clark instantly relinquished the drug lord from his grasp. "Funny thing about superheroes and photojournalists—a trait that you and Mr. Olsen seem to have in spades, I fear—is that you're both too nosy for your own good. You never know when to leave well enough alone…"

As if on cue, the side door opened and Jim was ushered into the room by a hooded young man, followed closely by another, more worldly-looking gentleman; their captive struggled vainly against his plastic bonds.

"Are you alright?" Clark asked evenly, his voice deep as he fought the instinct to reach out for his friend to reassure himself that Jim wasn't suffering.

The photographer shrugged his captor's hands off his shoulders and stopped squirming. "Relatively speaking."

"Good."

"I'm afraid you gentlemen won't be able to celebrate your good fortune for long," Leroy announced as he clapped his hands, effectively drawing all eyes back to his imposing figure.

* * *

The photographer studied his cape-clad friend, searching for some indication that Clark did indeed have a plan, unlike Jim's own hastily made one that had led to his capture. Uncle began what sounded like a carefully prepared speech, one that had been rehearsed many times over the years should this occasion ever arise, and he tuned in only because he noticed Clark was wholly engrossed in what was being said.

"I've built an empire right under the Metropolis P.D.'s nose and no one ever even knew my name until you two came along to try and ruin me. You're the only ones who've ever even gotten this close," Uncle continued, directing his tirade at the Man of Steel while moving away from his desk and circling the superhero. Clark in turn followed his movements, locking eyes with him while remaining rooted to his spot in the middle of the floor.

It was then that Jim turned back to his friend and observed a curious phenomenon; Clark Kent was sweating. And trembling. The movements were subtle—just a slight trickle of perspiration near his ear and an almost imperceptible shake of his right hand—but they were there nonetheless. _I may not have been in on the secret for long, but I know that these are NOT good signs. Clark does NOT sweat, ever. _He began to look about the room for any obvious signs of the infamous green rock only to find it everywhere and nowhere all at once; one giant hunk stood in the middle of Leroy's desk like a proud beacon; to further add to the Kryptonian's pain, Uncle had manipulated the mineral so that it was no longer in its raw, identifiable form. Upon closer inspection, Jim suddenly noticed the Kryptonite embedded in the decorative book ends on the shelves along the back wall, in the random statues and trinkets scattered on tops of the end tables and filing cabinets lining the room—even in pieces of the Tiffany-styled lampshade standing right next to his friend To Jim's overactive imagination, the ominous neon-colored glow appeared to be closing in all around them.

_Oh my God_, Jim thought as he looked from Clark to the room around him. _He has no idea how much there really is…it's lethal…

* * *

_Leroy's eyes glistened as he saw his long-awaited plan finally coming to fruition. He studied the superhero before him as he moved away from the desk, jamming his hands in the pockets of his black suit jacket while continually circling the Man of Steel. _I know you feel it, you miserable alien,_ he told himself as a sick and sinister smile crossed his lips. _And I'm going to bide my time talking until you're ready to embrace death._ Uncle feigned a half-step back as if to wind up a punch and he had the satisfaction of watching Superman flinched before he dodged out of the way.

"Luthor really did a number on you, didn't he?" Superman winced faintly and the corners of Leroy's mouth crept up into a full-fledged smile. "Ahh, well, he _thought_ he had the greatest criminal mind of our time, but he didn't have anywhere near the understanding that I have; perhaps if he had, he'd still be alive today."

"Stop posturing, Leroy, it's over!"

"But is it? Is it really? Do you think that, with my great intellect, I would let it all end so easily?!? I came from _NOTHING_ and still had _EVERYTHING _I ever cared about _TAKEN AWAY FROM ME_!!!! Why would I _EVER_ let that happen again, especially after all the good I've done!?!?!"

Superman's jaw dropped open in astonishment. "Good?!" he spluttered. "GOOD?!? Your _DRUG WAR_ destroyed more than half the neighborhood and killed nearly 300 people, most innocent bystanders, your own nephew included! And your heroin has killed more than 40 people in the last six months alone!"

Uncle cocked his head to the side amusedly at the hero's 'weak' argument. "What's the death of a few addicts to you? They contributed nothing except to my bottom line and were a drain on society's resources; Metropolis is better off."

"Tell that to the parents of the sixteen year old girl who died because _YOUR MEN_ put the drugs in _HER HANDS_!"

Leroy strode back to his desk, turning away from the superhero as he walked. "It's all about freedom of choice, my friend. But I fear we're digressing here; you mentioned the war, the war you weren't here for, the war you probably feel guilty for not stopping." Superman's head snapped up as he was called out on his remorse. "Yes, I understand you better than you think. I've felt the same guilt for my part in the havoc that Hector Caro and his comrades wrought on my family, friends and neighbors for all those years. But unlike you, I've done my best to make reparations to the community; I've given them money, I've given them jobs, I've given them the means with which to rebuild their homes and businesses and move forward and away from that tragedy. No one else has ever done for the East Side what _I _have done—all they've ever done is try to stamp us out."

* * *

Clark glanced down at the floor as Leroy spat his warped truth at him; loathe as he was to admit it, the drug lord was right about Metropolis writing off the East Side as being irredeemable, a policy they'd enacted long before the war that erupted in the earlier part of the century.

Leroy broke the still silence that had descended over the room. "Everything I've done in this life I've made for myself has been just."

"No," the Man of Steel replied crisply, having heard enough. "It wasn't just; it was your perverted interpretation of what was just."

Uncle's face turned beet red with rage as he spun around to face Superman once again, hastily whipping the .22 Baretta out of his carefully concealed shoulder holster. "And who are _you_ to tell _me_ what is right and fair, Alien?!?!" he screamed, years of pent up aggression spilling forth and dissolving his normally reserved demeanor. "You live as a god among men, yet you're neither God nor a man! It is high time that somebody showed you just what you really are, a nuisance who's bad for business, and that somebody who's going to show you is **ME**!!!!!!!"

* * *

Leroy leveled the gun at Superman's heart and he had the pleasure of watching the man go pale, his sweaty hair plastered against his forehead and his blue eyes dulled as another truth was presented before him. _The alien assumed that Kryptonite was to be my weapon of choice…looks like he assumed wrong._ A large, maniacal, toothy smile threatened to split Uncle's face in two while he glanced down at the gun in his hands.

"Kryptonite bullets—well what can I say? Luthor had his moments," he announced, his finger clenching on the trigger as his voice slipped into a deeper, more menacing tone. "I hope there's a special place in hell for you, _Hero_…"

Nearly everyone in the room froze as the shot rang out.

* * *

Clark squeezed his eyes tight and braced himself for the Kryptonite-tipped bullet he knew was loaded into Uncle's gun to pierce his chest. He could survive it, he knew he could…_and then when Uncle sees that I'm still standing I can re-gain the upper hand and take back control, get Jim to safety_. When no searing pain was forthcoming, he opened his eyes to find Jim laying at his feet, gasping for breath, a dark, sticky spot spreading out from a wound on the left side of his chest. Leroy stood as stock still as the Man of Steel, incredulity written clearly on his face that his perfectly laid plan was going so horribly awry. The astonishment lasted only an instant before Uncle raised the gun up again in a blind rage and prepared to fire at the superhero.

Superman deftly maneuvered out of the way, speeding behind Leroy's back and twisting the man's arms behind him; the gun clanged as it fell to the concrete floor harmlessly. He noticed the cinch ties hanging out of the back pocket of one of Uncle's associates, and quickly made his way over to the man, keeping Leroy's wrists firmly clenched in his grip. In no time at all, all three men were bound by their wrists and ankles to three separate chairs scattered about the room; only then could Clark allow himself to focus on Jim's condition.

"It's going to be alright, Jimmy," he whispered soothingly as he knelt beside the ailing man. The photographer swallowed hard and nodded, trying his best to maintain consciousness as the pain rolled over him. Clark placed a hand over the wound to stop the bleeding and was burned by the residual Kryptonite left on his friend's clothes and skin; still, he didn't care. If anything, it made him press down harder.

The severity of the injury necessitated Clark move the wounded man, though under ordinary circumstances he never would've attempted it with the bullet so close to Jim's heart. "I've got you now, it's alright," he reiterated as he scooped his friend up in his arms, cradling him as best he could. It was even better that he kept the cinch ties on Jim's wrists, as it prevented him from jostling around and further aggravating his life-threatening injury.

_It should've been me, Jim…it should've been me!_ Clark scowled as he turned to Leroy and his men one last time.

"Everything comes to an end, Uncle. Tonight is no exception, not even for a man like you." With that, Clark turned and sped through the corridors at top speed carrying Jim in his arms, leaving Uncle shouting at him at the top of his lungs.


	59. Chapter 59

_**Warehouse 9, **_**November 2, 2010, 9:41 pm**_**. **__Pain_…_so much pain…_The decision to jump in front of the bullet aimed at his friend had come to Jim so quickly that he didn't have time to consider the consequences or the agony it would bring, and now he lay on the concrete floor sweating and panting for breath, struggling not to cry. His body began shuddering from shock and he felt a cool breeze lift the sweat-drenched hair off his face long enough to see a pair of red boots scrambling about the room, securing the area before their captors had time to strike again. Jim brought his bound hands up to his chest to try to staunch the bleeding but the awkward angle of the bullet's entry prevented him from properly stemming the flow. A coppery taste filled the back of his mouth as he felt himself being lifted off the floor by a pair of sturdy arms.

"I've got you now, it's alright." Clark's somnolent voice resonated deep within his chest as he peered into the photographer's face and Jim did his best to acknowledge that he'd heard him while the edges of his vision began to go fuzzy.

A great rush of wind blew his hair back off his forehead, and the next thing he knew he was smelling the salty sea air as they emerged from the warehouse.

* * *

The blue/red glow of the S.W.A.T. car lights surrounded Clark and Jim as he sped out the side entrance of the warehouse. Numerous officials in black riot gear and carrying semi-automatics scrambled about to cover the perimeter before entering the drug lord's lair; at the center of it all was Lois Lane-Kent, directing the show with Special Agent Woodrow. Beside the women stood a man whom he suspected to be Special Agent Yeoh; the man seemed to be listening intently to the pair next to him before issuing commands through the walkie-talkie in his hands. Lois looked up in time to see her husband rushing toward them with a sweat-drenched face and their semi-conscious friend in his arms.

"Call his wife and get her to Metropolis General." The words were no sooner out of his mouth then he leapt up into the air and flew off with Jim in tow before she could even ask what was wrong.

* * *

Superman stood just inside the Emergency Room entrance and watched as a team of doctors and nurses sped away with Jim lying unconscious on a gurney. He followed their progress with watery blue eyes for as long as he dared, feeling more useless than he ever had before in his whole, before taking off to retrieve Jim's family and friends; he knew that Chloe would need the support of her relatives now more than ever, and he rocketed north over the City skyline toward Connecticut to begin gathering up the Olsen and Sullivan clans.

Clark heard the thunderous boom behind him as the wind whipped around his head, but he didn't care; he didn't have time to care, he had to reach Jim's mother and siblings before it was too late. _No, it's not going to be too late_, he reminded himself as he crossed state lines, _Jim's going to survive this—he __has__ to survive this.

* * *

**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 2, 2010, 10:18 pm. **Chloe paced back and forth in the waiting room with Lois beside her, both women desperate for news on Jim's condition. Two nurses came walking down the hallway in the midst of their rounds and their gossip was overheard by the troubled pair.

"I've never seen him looking so distraught before! I mean, he's probably seen more trauma then all the doctors and nurses in this hospital combined, but the look on his face as he watched that poor, young man being wheeled away…I swear I don't think I've ever felt so much pity for another person in all my life!" the plump red-headed woman told her companion.

"I know!" her peroxide blond companion retorted, just as astonished. "And with the amount of blood that was on his hands too, it's a miracle that the guy he brought in even made it to the table!"

It wasn't difficult to discern just _who_ the two nurses were talking about, and the revelation stopped Chloe dead in her tracks. She'd been preparing for bed when Lois had called, her voice low and grave as she explained that Jim had been injured while they were on a stakeout—until that time she hadn't even known that they'd _been_ on stakeout.

"Where is he now?" she'd asked, images of Jim's brush with the Ladykiller Killer a year earlier flashing to the forefront of her mind. "How did it happen? What exactly were you doing? How badly is Jim hurt?"

Chloe could hear Lois swallow back the sobs that rose up in her throat as she tried to answer her friend's questions. "We discovered who Uncle was about two weeks ago, and the three of us were keeping an eye on different locations along the waterfront where we suspected he might be hiding; Jim must have seen something and gone inside his warehouse without checking-in with the rest of us like we'd agreed. I called for Clark as soon as I realized that Jim missed the check-in and he went in after him. I-It…it l-looked like he'd been shot, but I don't know anything for sure."

That conversation had taken place more than half an hour ago, and there'd been even fewer details released since. Jim was in surgery—she knew that for certain—and the male nurse who guided her to the surgical wing's waiting room assured her that her husband was being treated by the most capable surgeons in all of Metropolis, but none of that helped to answer the millions of questions burning in her brain.

_Why didn't he tell me what he was doing?! God I feel like such a fool for not asking him earlier; I saw all the classic signs of a stakeout and yet I still missed each and every one! _Chloe pulled the gray sweater tighter around her as she settled into a nearby chair. _And just what exactly did he see that made him separate from Lois and Clark?_ she thought, peering over at the brunette beside her. _Why would he plunge headlong into a dangerous situation? It's so not like him!!!! _Her fist pounded the empty seat cushion next to her in frustration._ WHY, JIMMY?! _Chloe's mind cried out at him,_ Why did YOU have to be the one to get shot?!

* * *

_Lois' mind flashed back to all the times she'd been in a position similar to Chloe's as she watched the agitated woman pound out her worries on the seat cushion in the chair next to her. All of the long nights spent crying and worrying alone in the cold dark of her bedroom while Clark fought for his life in Luthor's bunkers…a shudder ran down her spine at the recollection and she threw her hand over her eyes as they began to water, even now, all these years later.

She also thought of Martha Kent as she watched her friend beat away her frustration; the elderly woman had had to watch her husband die right before her very eyes, and watch her son come back from the brink more than once himself. Lois vaguely remembered passing her future mother-in-law outside of Metropolis General in the wake of the New Krypton disaster—she'd dismissed her then as just another nameless face in the throng standing vigil for a superhero, never once suspecting she was a mother praying for the swift recovery of her only son. Her mouth curved into a scowl of regret, knowing that if she knew then what she knew now, she could have brought Martha some comfort with a look or a nod, instead of leaving her to wait all alone in a sea of people.

Knowing and loving Clark was their shared privilege; holding their breath, praying and waiting for him every time he fell was their private pain. Martha and Lois had had to wait alone too many times to count, but this wasn't Clark fighting for his life, this was Jim, and she had to remind herself that Chloe wasn't alone now; she never would be as long as she was there to support her. She snaked a hand around her friend's shoulder and drew her close, letting the blonde woman rest against her while Chloe's silent tears soaked through the dark material of Lois' shirt.

_You're not alone in this, Clo; no matter what the outcome, just know that you'll never be alone._

It was then, in the quiet of the unforgiving waiting room, that the door swung open ominously.

* * *

"What happened to him?!" Cheryl cried out as she rushed to Chloe's side, throwing her arms around her astonished, pregnant daughter-in-law as the woman struggled to get out of her chair. She was followed closely by Josh, Jen, Justin and Jill, while Brian brought up the rear carrying a diaper bag over his shoulder and baby Owen in his arms. The woman and her eldest children appeared to have been roused straight out of their beds, while the two younger Olsens were dressed as if they'd been plucked from a frat party.

Chloe stared at her family open-mouthed. "How…h-how did you get here? I only just got here, or I would have…"

"Superman brought us," Josh chimed in gravely, a large hand running through his thick head of hair. "He gathered all of us up in Connecticut—even picked up the twins from school—then had us get in Jen and Brian's minivan and flew us over."

"Is he still here? Is Superman still here?" Chloe asked quickly, staring into a sea of sad brown eyes.

"No, he isn't," Justin informed her. "He touched down with us in the parking lot and took off before we even got out of the car." The young woman's shoulders slumped dishearteningly at the news—she'd hoped to be able to catch Clark and finally get some answers.

Jill spoke up hesitantly, her normally extroverted personality greatly subdued. "Is it like last time?" She stared straight up into the green eyes of her sister-in-law, watching them water before she even got the words out.

"No, it isn't."

Cheryl sat down next to Chloe, clutching the young woman's arm as Lois scooted away to make room for the Olsen clan; it was amazing to see how composed the usually nervous family matriarch was in light of such serious news. "Ok, now tell us everything from the beginning. I want to know exactly what happened to our James."

* * *

**10:43 pm. **Ian Sullivan walked through the door of the waiting room and made a bee-line straight for his daughter with Martha Kent close on his heels. What little hair remained on his head stood up at odd angles and his glasses sat askew on his nose; the poor, befuddled man even had on two different shoes, but none of that mattered in his current state—only his daughter and his son-in-law mattered now.

"Superman picked you up too?" he heard his daughter's muffled voice ask as she stood with her father, her face buried deep in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her in a firm embrace. Only then did the man take a good look around the room to see Cheryl and the rest of her children gathered around, along with Chloe's friend and Martha's daughter-in-law, Lois.

"Of course," he replied soothingly, stroking her hair with his broad hand. "He knew you'd need me now more than ever, Bug."

"Oh Dad!!!!" Chloe's chest heaved with fresh tears at the endearment from her father. "Jimmy got shot! I don't even know how it happened and now he's fighting for his life and…and…and the doctors won't tell me anything!!!"

"Clark might know, Dear," Martha said almost inaudibly, having heard the whole horrific tale from her son just twenty minutes earlier. "I passed him in the hallway, heading towards the men's room. It looked to me like he'd just left the nurses' station and he might have some new news."

Chloe lifted her head and wiped her red eyes with her sleeve, glancing at Martha as the woman gave her a nod of encouragement to go seek out the man they both knew had more answers. Ian watched as his daughter strode purposefully to the door and disappeared into the hallway beyond before he turned his attention to Cheryl.

"How are you holding up?" he asked concernedly, taking the seat his daughter had just vacated.

Now that her daughter-in-law was out of sight, Cheryl let her true emotions surface as she mechanically clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap, her eyes looking blankly over at Ian. "I don't know…I-I just don't know how to feel. I came in here expecting him to pull through, but now, with everything we know and don't know—now I'm numb in a way that I haven't been since my husband left." Cheryl stopped and drew a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the curious glances her equally distraught children and the other occupants of the room threw in her direction at the mention of her long-absent spouse. "Maybe I'm grief-stricken? Is that the word, grief-stricken? No, that's not right, because James isn't dead yet…"

"You're just in shock, Mom, now don't talk like that because nothings going to happen to Jimmy," Jen said soothingly as she moved closer beside her mother and began rubbing her arm. "He'll be just fine, you'll see. He's going to be just fine…"

"And what if he isn't, Jen?" Justin uttered in a forceful tone. He stood against the window, the Metropolis skyline framing his towering figure and arresting all eyes in the room; even Brian, who'd been pacing the floor with his son fussing in his arms, stopped in his tracks. "What if he dies tonight? You heard Chloe earlier, all of you heard her, this isn't like the last time; he isn't just going to walk away with a scar and an interesting story to tell, he could _DIE_, or worse wake up brain damaged or paralyzed!!!! And with a wife and two kids on the way?!?! What's going to happen if he doesn't survive this, huh?! Have any of you even thought about that?! Have you?!?!"

Josh stepped forward and put a hand on his brother's shoulder, his back turned to the rest of the room. "This isn't the time to talk about this; we don't need to scare Mom and the others any more than they already are. We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it."

"Get off me!" the young man cried out, shrugging off his brother's hand. "Stop acting like Jimmy because you're not him!" Josh scowled at his brother and stalked off to stand by his sister Jill, who was curled up in her seat in the opposite corner of the room. "Now is _EXACTLY _the time to be talking about this! We need to have a plan—we can't just bury our heads in the sand just because we don't want to think practically…"

"Justin, will you just SHUT UP!!!!" Jill screamed at her brother, her tear-streaked face red with rage. "Stop being so damned cynical for five seconds, for God's sake! This is our BROTHER we're talking about here!!!"

"I know this is _our brother_, JILLIAN; it's all of you who seem to have forgotten!!!"

Baby Owen began wailing loudly from his father's arms at all the noise and Jen looked on helplessly as her three siblings began to bicker. "Guys, please, let's just all take a step back and calm down. The doctors are still operating and we don't know anything yet, so…"

"_So WHAT?! Those quack doctors could be harvesting his organs for all we know!!!!_" Cheryl's face turned a new shade of gray at her youngest son's words, her mouth hanging open in horror, and Ian gave her hand a compassionate, reassuring squeeze.

"**Now look here!**" Martha cried out, effectively putting an end to the sniping. "All this negativity isn't going to help your brother get through this one bit, you hear me?!! The only things we can do for him now are to think positively and pray. Now here, take my hands…" She offered up her weathered palms, waiting for everyone else in the room to join her without being sure that they would. To her surprise, her words affected Justin the most and he quietly stepped forward, clasping his left hand firmly in hers. Everyone else in the room soon followed suit, forming a large oval in the middle of the waiting room, as Martha began to speak. "Dear Heavenly Father, we pray to you tonight in the hopes that you'll spare our son, brother and friend, James Olsen…"

* * *

**10:51 pm. **"Perry, where've you been?!" Lois cried out as she spied him standing in the doorway once Martha finished her simple prayer. The Editor-in-Chief stood with his great gray overcoat drawn over his tuxedo, an anxious look on his face.

"Barbara had a devil of a time trying to get a hold of me," he muttered, pulling off his winter gloves and striding purposefully into the room. "I was at the 'Save the Printed Word' benefit over at the library along with other members of the board; if tonight is any indicator, I think it's high time that I invest in a cell phone. Is Jim alright? What in the Sam Hill happened this time?" He took a quick look around the room in search of the young blond woman his photographer had married. "Wait a minute, where's his wife? Was she hurt too?"

Jen glanced away from her mother's face and into that of her brother's wizened boss. "No, Chloe wasn't there; she's in the hallway right now speaking with her tall friend, I think his name is Clark. All we know about Jimmy right now is that he was shot while on assignment."

Perry's nostrils flared indignantly. "He was hurt while _**on**_ _**assignment**_? _LOIS…!_"

The journalist shook her head; the brown tresses whipping around her shoulders served to make her look more the part of an errant schoolgirl instead of an ace reporter. "We were still working the Uncle story, Perry; we only told you we weren't so we could fly under the radar a bit longer before you officially pulled the plug. We figured out who Uncle was and had a few good, solid leads on where he might be hiding out so we followed up on them. Jim broke protocol and went inside one of the buildings by himself; by the time we found out and went in after him…"

"He'd been shot," the Chief finished for her, his voice hushed and awed. "How badly is he hurt?"

"We don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?! You were there, weren't you!?"

Lois bowed her head in shame momentarily before meeting his eyes again. "I was at the scene, yes, but Superman was the one who found Jimmy and brought him to the hospital. I don't know where he was shot, or why, or how many times…I DON'T KNOW ANY OF IT!!!" she cried out, her long-held tears finally springing to her eyes and running down her face.

Martha hurried over and wrapped an arm around her daughter-in-law's shoulders soothingly. "There there, Dear, there there…"

The Chief slumped down into a nearby chair. "This isn't like the last time, is it?"

"No Sir, it isn't," Jill answered quietly from her perch beside him.

Perry regarded her curiously; her expressive brown eyes mirrored her older brother's, and almost innately the Editor-in-Chief recognized just how important his junior photographer was, not only to the _Daily Planet _family, but also to the whole of the Olsen clan. Instinctively he reached over and patted the young girl on the arm. "Yes, well, your brother's made of tough stuff, you know that? He once had the gall to call me out in front of my own bullpen full of reporters—and what's more, I deserved it too." He heaved a pensive sigh at the recollection. "Yep, that Jim's made of tough stuff alright; you really need to have a pair to be able to publicly ream out a man like me and get away with it without a pink slip." Jill let out a small giggle while Cheryl's cheeks flushed red at the perceived profanity.

The waiting room fell silent again after that, save for the ticking of the oversized clock on the wall, and they wondered how the surgeons were faring down the hall.

* * *

Chloe paced in front of the men's bathroom where Clark had sequestered himself, anxious to have a word alone with him. She pulled the light gray sweater tighter across her expansive stomach, before crossing her arms and rubbing them vigorously to try and ward off the chill that hadn't left her since Lois delivered the news over an hour before. _I need to know __exactly__ what happened_, her reporter's mind repeated over and over as she continued pacing. _And Clark's the only one who can give me answers…

* * *

_Clark stood inside the wash room in front of a teal colored sink, pushing the button on the soap dispenser and vigorously rubbing his hands together under the rushing water for the umpteenth time. Every time he'd had to awaken another member of the Olsen family and deliver the terrible news, his eyes would dart down to the caked-in, red-brown blood stains on his hands; the stains that even now, ten minutes later, he swore he could still see on his skin in spite of repeated washings.

He looked up into the cracked mirror above the sink and stared at his pale visage, pushing the black-rimmed glasses back up his nose instinctively, his lips pinched in a tight, stern line. With his enhanced hearing, he knew Chloe was pacing right outside the door and, as he walked over to the paper towel dispenser, he decided that it was time to face the music; her questions, unlike those of her friends and family, would not be so easily evaded.

She leveled her green eyes—now red and puffy from crying—at him and began firing off questions before he even had a chance to fully exit the restroom. "What happened?!" she shouted amidst her sobs as soon as she saw his face. "Why didn't you turn your information on Uncle over to the authorities and leave it up to them to find him?! Why did you three have to go marching straight into the lion's den, AGAIN?!?! And why did _MY HUSBAND_ get SHOT!?!?!?!"

Clark gulped guiltily as he led her over to a nearby wall where they could carry on their discussion a little more privately. "W-we agreed—the three of us, that is—not to go to the authorities until we had a s-specific location for Uncle's whereabouts to go along with his identity. We split up to cover more ground and Jim, well, he must have seen something suspicious because he went in without calling me or Lois and…"

"I _know_ all that, but tell me why _your_ suspect shot _my_ husband when _you_ were there?! Why didn't _YOU_ stop him?! What AREN'Tyou telling me!?"

He let loose a hard, deep sigh, his hands on her biceps holding her steady, while a few tears of his own slid down his face unbidden. "Uncle didn't mean to shoot Jim, Chloe, he…" Clark hung his head low, his dark locks covering his bright blue eyes full of guilt and shame, "He was aiming the gun at me. The room and the bullet were laced with Kryptonite; everything happened so fast and before I was even aware of what was going on, Jim had jumped in front of the bullet to save me."

Chloe's jaw fell to the floor in disbelief. "_OH MY GOD_! You mean to tell me that JIM is in there fighting for his life right now all because _you_ were caught unawares?!? How could _**you**_ be so careless, Clark?! You _knew_ that this Uncle character had all that Kryptonite, you knew it, so how come you didn't act sooner, like _before _he pulled the gun, huh?! You've been after this man for months, how could you have been so reckless?! This could KILL JIM!!!"

"M-my adrenaline was going, and I didn't know! I arrived on the scene only after Jim had gone into the warehouse and there just wasn't time to think, only to react and…and…and it all happened so fast! "

Her eyes narrowed as she looked hard upon his face, jabbing her finger into his impenetrable chest and pushing him away from her. "It happened so fast that even you, a man who's supposed to be _faster_ than a speeding bullet, couldn't get out of the way in time and so my _husband_ had to take the fall?!" She balled her hands up into fists, pounding on the front of her friend's shoulders in search of answers, despite the fact that there was nothing Clark or the doctors could tell her that would guarantee Jim's survival through the night.

* * *

Clark heaved a sigh and slumped forward more, presenting her with a better target with which to work out her panic and frustration while feeding his ever-mounting guilt. _She's right,_ he thought to himself as her tiny fists blurred before his otherworldly blue eyes, _I was too focused on getting Jim out of the warehouse than I was about who and __what__ was in there; I should never have left for the Hurlihey Bridge, I shouldn't have dashed into the warehouse after him so blindly, I shouldn't have…

* * *

_Chloe whaled on her friend's chest with all the force her petite, pregnant body could muster and she didn't give a damn who saw her do it. Deep, _deep_ down inside, her subconscious told her that Clark wasn't the one she was really mad at; while it was Jimmy she was pissed at for lying to her, and it was Uncle she truly hated for shooting her husband, it was herself she was most disappointed in for not putting the pieces together sooner and stopping all three from embarking on what was proving to be their most dangerous investigation to date.

The aroma of disinfectant wafted up to her nose as a nurse passed by going about her business, and the scent seemed to overwhelm Chloe's already overloaded senses. With bleary eyes, she glanced at the wall behind Clark's shoulder, on the opposite side of the hallway, only to discover it had split in two and was now dancing before her, and the cheap fluorescent lighting overhead had grown dimmer as well, giving the walls a dark, fuzzy edge. Her hysterical sobbing had caused her to hyperventilate, a fact which was now glaringly apparent as she felt her knees wobble under her weight. Her legs started to buckle and she stopped hitting Clark, turning instead to brace herself against the wall behind her as she struggled to get back to the waiting room. Just as she was about to collapse to the floor, Chloe felt herself wrapped up in a pair of muscular arms and pressed against a very warm, broad chest—the same chest she had exacted her rage on a moment earlier.

"I couldn't protect Jim tonight, Chloe, and I'm sorry," Clark whispered in her ear, his voice low. "But I can protect the three of you." And with that he purposefully strode down the hallway, back into the room where their family and friends were anxiously waiting anxiously for news.

* * *

**11:28 pm. **"His blood pressure's dropping."

"Dammit, there must be a tear—time to do some damage control," the surgeon announced, probing deeper into the exposed portion of the patient's chest. A few feet away, abandoned on a plastic tray jar, sat a curiously green-tinted bullet covered in blood. "Ok, ok, I think I see it…just a few seconds more…"

The monitor behind the anesthesiologist's head began blinking and beeping. "We don't have a few seconds, we're losing him!"

"Get the crash cart! Charge it to 300!"

"Hurry!"

The metallic crash of surgical implements falling to the floor nearly overshadowed that of the flat-lining heart monitor.


	60. Chapter 60

_**East Side Slums,**_ _**Warehouse 9, **_**November 2, 2010, 9:42 pm. **_"Everything comes to an end, Uncle. Tonight is no exception, not even for a man like you."_

Superman's words echoed in Leroy's head long after he had fled with his friend in his arms, and it was those same words propelling him forward as he struggled to move the chair so he could reach his desk.

"Uncle? What are we going to do now?" Shane asked hesitantly while Jacob sat nearby, trying to loosen his hands. "What are we going to do now, Uncle? He knows what we look like! Uncle? Uncle?"

But Leroy simply ignored his young employee and focused solely on his task. He sat with his back to the desk, his bound hands fumbling as he sought to open the second drawer.

Freeze glanced from his employer to his co-worker and back again before arriving at the conclusion that his boss must have taken a leave of his senses in the wake of his monumental defeat, and therefore turned to the second-in-command. "Yo, Jacob, what are we going to do?!" he whispered loudly, eyes darting around the room, searching for a means of escape. "We have to get out of here! You heard Superman—the cops are on their way!"

The older man nodded in agreement and re-doubled his efforts to free his hands. He nodded toward Uncle's desk. "See if you can't get a hold of that letter opener there. We can cut ourselves loose and make a break for it."

"Alright." Shane dutifully scraped his chair along the concrete office floor towards the desk.

Uncle pulled the drawer open with great effort and began blindly groping about for the small controller carefully concealed in the back. Once it was within his clutches, he brought the chair around and came face-to-face with Jacob and Shane; they were furiously trying to free themselves from the cinch ties with a dull letter opener but the fanatical look on their boss' face stopped them in their tracks.

"Everything comes to an end eventually, tonight is no exception," he intoned coldly, mimicking the Man of Steel. "Only tonight, Superman, you didn't count on this. I _always_ have a plan." He paused in his tirade, drawing in a deep breath as the two men before him stared in wide-eyed horror. "Leroy Russell will _NOT_ live in a cage!"

"DON'T DO IT!!!!"

"NOO!!!!!!"

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 3, 2010, 4:30 am. **Chloe entered the room slowly, on unsteady legs, drinking in Jim's visage with her eyes. He appeared to be sleeping, however, all the apparatuses attached to his body proved otherwise. His face was pale against the ivory hospital sheets—even his lips had lost their healthy pink sheen—and she fervently wished he would open his sweet, puppy dog brown eyes for her once again.

She brushed her lips against his cheek in a soft kiss before settling herself in the nearby chair, firmly grasping his right hand as she did so.

"Hi Sweetie," Chloe whispered as tenderly as her shaky voice would allow. "I'm here, I'm right here and now that you're out of surgery I'm not going to leave your side, ok? The doctors said everything went well and that with a little hard work on your part you're going to be as good as new—and that's a good thing, too, because I'll need an extra pair of hands around when it comes to diaper duty," she half-heartedly teased, fighting back her sniffles. In reality, the doctors told her that they'd lost him once on the operating table and that there was a fifty-fifty chance he wouldn't make it to noontime that same day; still, she remained firm in her belief that by staying positive for him now he would beat the odds and come back to her—all he needed was time.

"Your family is here: your mom and all your brothers and sisters. Superman picked them up and brought them here to see you—he even brought my Dad and Mrs. Kent in from Kansas. Perry and Lois are waiting with them too; they're all down the hall waiting to see you, but they said I should spend some time alone with you first. Can you believe that? For once I didn't have to fight your mother for time alone with 'her James'." She forced a smile on her face as she clenched his limp hand a little tighter in her own.

Chloe sat there in silence for several minutes, focusing intently on the quiet hiss and the rise and fall of Jim's chest as the ventilator did all his breathing for him. The low, steady blip of the heart rate monitor also arrested her attention and she felt a tear slide down her cheek at the machine's unnaturally slow pace. "You're going to have to wake up sometime, Baby." She watched him intently, hoping her words might bring about some movement. When none was forthcoming, she repeated her plea. "Come on, Jimmy, please, wake up."

* * *

_**Metropolis General, **_**November 3, 2010, 8:00 am. **"Good Morning and thank you for joining WMLB cable news, THE local news station for Metropolis. In breaking news, an implosion along the East Side waterfront has authorities scrambling to uncover the sequence of events that led to the tragic deaths of at least three people. The roof of Warehouse 9 collapsed in on a secret sub-basement of the complex around a quarter to ten yesterday evening, killing one occupant immediately and trapping two others inside, buried beneath layers of rubble for several hours. Rescue officials struggled in vain to reach the two voices calling out to them from inside, but they were too late as the victims succumbed to their injuries early this morning. For more information, we now take you to Carlton Wolfe who is standing by on the scene. Carlton?" Perry, Lois and Clark stared intently at the wall-mounted television on the opposite side of the room.

The camera flashed to the spot just in front of Jim's rental car, which was cordoned off by a line of yellow police tape. The smoldering remains of the ruined warehouse were visible beyond the car, along with the heads of a gathering crowd. Clark also spotted Special Agent Woodrow huddled in conference with Special Agent Yeoh, talking and pointing animatedly at the warehouse and at the assembled team carrying away boxes of evidence, the contents of which were shielded from view.

"Thank you, Annette. Investigators here have just informed the press that a notorious drug dealer, known before today only as Uncle, is believed to have been killed in the explosion. According to the authorities, Uncle—a Metropolis native by the name of Leroy Russell—had been quietly transporting and pumping drugs into the city for the last twenty years; he and his associates are also believed to be responsible not only for the East Side Drug War in the earlier part of this decade, but also for the recent rash of heroin-related deaths that have killed over forty people in the last six months.

"What we don't know at this time is the sequence of events directly preceding the explosion; I've been informed by a source on the scene that Superman _was_ involved in a rescue attempt made to save a hostage shortly before the blast, but that portion of the story has yet to be corroborated. Who that hostage was, what their ties to Uncle and his operation were, AND what his or her current condition is has not yet been revealed."

The camera cut back to the young anchorwoman in the studio. "Do we know if anyone else was hurt in the explosion other than the drug dealer and his two associates?"

"I was told that several S.W.A.T. team members were poised and ready to enter the building at the time of the blast but that no one had gone into the warehouse and the only injuries incurred were those due to the blow back."

"I understand. Now, do we know how the explosion was set off? Also, has anyone seen the Man of Steel on-site since the earlier rescue attempt? It appears to those of us here in the studio and at home that he is conspicuously missing in action."

"According to Fire Chief Miller, whose crews are still on the scene watering down the remains of the structure, the explosion was detonated by someone within the building and not by an external source. As far as Superman not returning to the scene, well, that would be due to a little something called Kryptonite, Annette. Rescue workers exposed bits of the rock in the Southwest corner of the facility as they tried to retrieve the two men trapped beneath the rubble; I've also been told that the rock has surfaced in other forms, though details on just what those other forms are have not been forthcoming."

"So it's rather fortunate for him that he hasn't returned to the scene, isn't it?"

The news anchor on-site pressed the ear piece to his ear and gave a small, forced chuckle. "Yes, yes it is."

"Thank you, Carlton." Annette stared straight into the camera, flashing a mega-watt smile. "Stay tuned to WMLB News for further updates on this story as details become available. In other top news…"

Lois clutched her husband's hand a little tighter as she tuned out the rest of the broadcast. Clark leaned in close to whisper into her ear, "I heard it, Lois. I heard Leroy detonate the explosives and I didn't go back to help. I was trying to get to Jim's family so they could be at the hospital with him when I heard the building collapse, but I was too focused on helping Jimmy to care."

She clasped the back of his head as their foreheads touched in a tender embrace. "It's ok—the world knows you can't be everywhere at once and in this case I _know_ that you made the right call."

He shut his eyes tight and nodded his head in agreement, drawing a deep breath while holding onto her hand as if it were his only lifeline.

* * *

_**East Side Slums, **_**Warehouse 9, November 3, 2010, 8:07 am. **A growing contingent of on-lookers stood a short ways away from the press, watching the on-site authorities scramble around Warehouse 9 as they hauled away box after box of evidence from the scene while Search & Rescue dug through the rubble to retrieve the three bodies. Pasquale Luciano was among the crowd, a blanket thrown over his lap to ward off the chill and hide his amputated leg; his head hung low in shame. He'd always worried about the choices 'Little Leroy' had made after he had walked away from the grocery store and now, finally, he'd been caught and stopped. There would be no more drugs pumped into the neighborhood and out onto the streets by him and his men, and there would be no more bloodshed. Pasquale reached up and tugged on Marco's good hand so the young man could wheel him back to the store, away from the sorry sight that was the ruins of Leroy's villainous life.

An older woman also stood on the periphery of the crowd, her snow white hair standing in stark contrast to the black coat she kept tightly wrapped around her shoulders. Rose hadn't seen or spoken to her son directly since the day he walked away from her over twenty years ago, yet she always knew what he was up to and where to find him. The last time she'd chanced upon him was when she spotted him standing on the cemetery hillside the day her grandson Anthony was buried and now she knew, even before they recovered his body that she'd never look upon Leroy's face ever again. She had seen this day coming just as Pasquale Luciano had, only she'd seen it coming since Leroy's twenty-first birthday, and now she stood watching as his empire was carted away brick by brick at the hands of the FBI.

A steady stream of quiet tears flowed down her weathered cheeks for her dead, wayward son.

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 3, 2010, 8:08 am. **Perry White had vacated the room shortly after the news report aired and he now returned with a purposeful bounce to his step. He made straight for his pair of top reporters, giving a slight cough as he prepared to interrupt their private moment.

"Listen you two, I know we're licked but we're not de—…" He looked around the room in horror to make sure his almost-euphemism wasn't overheard by any of Jim's family. "We're not _out_ yet and I don't want us getting scooped by WMLB on the story you three broke, so here's what I'm proposing; one of you hightail it back to the office with me and get something more substantial typed up for a special afternoon edition, something that'll top Annette Armstrong and Carlton Wolfe's on-air drivel. I've already got Ralph down at the scene getting as many quotes as he can from the rescuers on-site to help you out. Now what do you say?"

Clark stood up just as Lois opened her mouth to respond. "I'll go, Chief, and get the story done. I know where all the notes are and we've already got a good portion of the story typed up and ready to go; let Lois stay here, I know Chloe'll need her."

Lois stood up defiantly, hazel eyes glaring angrily up into Clark's face. She hated the way he was patronizing her now, speaking as if she weren't even in the same room or couldn't form a coherent thought on her own; she also suspected that there might be an underlying reason as to why he was so eager to return to the bullpen and leave his friend's side.

"_Clark_, you and I both know that _two_ can work faster than _one_," she remarked pointedly. "That way we can _both_ come back to the hospital and be here for Chloe _and_ Jim."

* * *

The Chief may never have gotten married but he knew the beginnings of a marital spat when he saw one and he began to back away, giving the two Kents space for the type of verbal sparring match for which they were so famous. When he was near enough to the door, he announced, "I don't care how you decide who comes and who stays, but I need at least one of you to meet me in the lobby in **two** minutes for the cab ride back, and that's an order."

* * *

Lois rolled her eyes as the Chief exited the room. "God, he sounds like my father when he talks like that."

Clark crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and cocked his head to the side in annoyance. "Well maybe we _need_ a little militaristic kick in the butt right now, did you ever think of that?" She glowered at him but he pressed on. "Why can't you just let me go back to the office with him and get the story done? You know I can type it up and be back here in no time…"

"That's not why I'm stopping you, Clark, and we both know it. Ugh, and we were _just_ talking about this too! You're leaving because you feel…" she lowered her voice and glanced around the room, hoping that they weren't overheard by any of Jim or Chloe's family, "…because you feel guilty for what happened to Jim and you think that leaving will be some kind penance for letting it happen! Well it's not your fault and I'm not going to let you go and do that!"

He put his hand on her forearm to stop her before she could go any further, the pain he felt evident in his facial expression. "Look, I'm going to go whether you want me to or not—I need to get out of here and Perry needs to get the story, not to mention that I should go relieve your mother from emergency babysitting duty and explain to Jason why he's home from school today and what's going on. I promise I won't stay gone any longer then I have to and I'll bring both kids back with me when I'm through." His wife continued to glare at him and he let loose a soft sigh, hoping she'd come to see his side of things. "This is just something I have to do right now, ok? Please, Lois, I need you to understand."

Her body relaxed as she relented, looking away from him while letting a feeble "Ok," cross her lips. She let him kiss her on the cheek before turning back and settling down in the seat beside his mother, whose head was resting along the back wall in uneasy slumber.

* * *

_**Daily Planet, **_**November 3, 2010, 9:22 am. **"Yeah Ralph, I'm here, why don't you give me what you've got?" Clark sat at his desk as he listened to his co-worker shuffle through his notes on the other end of the line. A minute later, he finally arrived at the page he'd been looking for.

"Ok, here's a bit that I got from the Fire Chief; he said…" But Clark was too interested in the gossip going on in the background behind his co-worker to pay attention.

"Mary Mother in Heaven, I never thought I'd see the day when Lois Lane-Kent let us scoop her on the story of the year," he heard an older-sounding man say.

"Yeah, well, a hostage _did_ get shot down there. Met. Gen. isn't giving out any names but odds are 10-to-1 that it was Lois who took a hit before Superman could get her out of there. We all knew there'd come a time when he couldn't rescue her from _something_," a second disembodied voice offered. Clark shuddered as the person vocalized one of his few deep-seated fears.

"Well _I_ have a source on the inside who knows exactly who the hostage was." He winced involuntarily as he recognized the smug sound of journalist Jane Cho, their rival at the _Messenger_. "It wasn't Lane-Kent; it was her friend, that photographer Olsen, who got hit."

"No way!" the second person cried out incredulously. "Jim Olsen got shot?! I know the guy! My wife and I met him and his wife at a Lamaze class a couple of weeks ago!"

"Rumor has it he took the bullet for Superman too," Jane added, the superiority evident in her tone of voice.

Clark heard the middle-aged man scoff. "What is that kid dumb as a post? Superman's invincible! Had it hit him, the bullet would've just bounced right off him!"

By this time, Ralph had stopped talking into the phone and was also tuning in interestedly to the conversation going on behind him.

"Not if it's made up of Kryptonite, it wouldn't have," Jane replied. "And given how much was brought up after the building went down, I'm willing to bet my money that that's exactly what happened; plus, my inside source at the hospital swore that the bullet they pulled out of Olsen's chest was _glowing_ green."

"Oh yeah?" the first man asked arrogantly. "What else does your 'source' have to say?"

"My source says that he's dead, too; died right there on the operating table as they were stitching him back up."

"Can it, CHO!!" Ralph Cooper cried out, silencing the woman once and for all. "Jimmy Olsen is _NOT_ dead; no wonder you still work for the _Messenger_, Jane, your sources aren't worth shit! He's a fucking hero for crying out loud, a credit to the _Planet_, AND he is _VERY MUCH ALIVE_, now DON'T you FORGET IT! Now why don't you try spreading around _the truth_ for a change!"

Clark had to force himself to keep his jaw from dropping to his desk in shock at hearing Jim's only 'enemy' on the _Daily Planet_ staff defend him so vociferously. He forcefully shook his dark head to bring himself back to the task at hand. "Um, R-Ralph? Everything ok on your end?"

"What?" his stunned colleague asked, returning to their conversation. "Oh yeah, yeah, everything's fine. So, where was I?"

"You were about to tell me what the Fire Chief had to say about the explosion…"

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 3, 2010, 11:13 am. **"Hey, I'm home," Clark cried out as he let himself into the apartment. It felt like an eternity since he'd been home and he anxiously eyed the hallway for the welcome sight of his children.

They didn't disappoint him. "DAD!" Jason cried out, running around the corner at a semi-reasonable speed and straight into Clark's waiting arms. "We woke up this morning and Grandma was here! And she said I didn't have to go to school!" Then, in a quieter voice he added, "I watched the TV but you weren't there. What's going on? Where's Mom? How come she isn't with you?"

He opened his mouth to answer his son's questions when Ella came striding around the corner with a squirming twenty month old in her arms. "Dada! Dada!" Clark quickly made room for his daughter in his embrace and squeezed them both tight.

"Dad…got to…breathe," Jason joked. His father rolled his eyes as his wife's trademark sarcasm manifested itself manifest in his son and he set the boy down, before turning to his mother-in-law to give her a quick kiss on the cheek in gratitude.

"Thanks for agreeing to come over so late and relieve Mrs. Culpepper, Ella," he said as he stepped away from the door with Haley still on his hip.

"Not a problem, not a problem! Now tell me, how is he? It's so sad to hear what happened to him—he's such a nice young man, and with a baby on the way too!"

"Actually, it's two babies; his wife, Chloe, is pregnant with twins."

"Good heavens! Well he is going to make it, isn't he?" she asked, the worried creases on her face delving deeper as she tried to read through her son-in-law's anxious stare.

Jason stood between the two adults looking back and forth; he knew the conversation concerned his Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Chloe, but he wasn't sure how. Tugging on his father's shirt he asked, "Are Aunt Chloe and my cousins ok?"

Clark leaned over and rustled his son's hair. "Your aunt and the babies are fine, Son, but I think we need to have a talk. Have a seat—there's something very important I need to tell you." He led his children and his mother-in-law over to the sofa and sat down beside Jason, placing Haley on his lap. "You know how Mom and Uncle Jimmy and I have been working late a lot, right? On a very important story to try to help Metropolis _and_ help Superman?"

The boy simply nodded while Ella looked on; she was always amazed by her daughter's work and her connection to the Man of Steel, but this was one of the first times she'd been let in on the intimate details of Lois and Clark's work _before_ it went to print.

"Well last night something happened and your Uncle Jimmy got hurt pretty badly. Superman brought him to the hospital and the doctors fixed him up as best they could but he's still sleeping. Your Mom is there right now, waiting with your Aunt Chloe, your Grandma Martha and Uncle Jimmy's mom and brothers and sisters. We're going to go there too just as soon as I change clothes and get an outfit for your Mom." Ella caught his eye as he looked away from his son's face and the sadness lurking in those bright blue orbs was plain as day.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked quietly.

He turned to face her and gave an appreciative sigh. "You've already helped out so much…"

"But that doesn't mean there isn't more I can do."

He nodded and looked down at his giggling daughter bouncing on his knee. "Would you mind changing her and packing a diaper bag with an extra outfit, some toys, and snacks that I can bring to the hospital? I don't know how long we'll be there and…"

She held up her hand. "Say no more, it's done." Ella stood up and held her arms out for her granddaughter. "Come on Sweetheart, let's get you ready to go out with Daddy." The little girl went back to her grandmother reluctantly while her brother remained seated on the couch, greatly subdued.

"Do you have any questions about what I just told you?"

His son looked up at him with his expressive blue eyes, pondering how to put into words what had him so perplexed. "Dad, you said Uncle Jimmy was sleeping—is he sleeping like I do at night, or is he sleeping like…like…"

"Like what, Jason?"

"Like Grandpa Jonathan is sleeping up in heaven?" the boy asked faintly. Clark considered how best to answer his son's pressing question, knowing full well that there wasn't a satisfactory answer to be had.

"He's not sleeping like Grandpa Jonathan, no. Uncle Jimmy's sleeping is _similar_ to the way you sleep, Buddy, but it's a lot deeper than that; it's his body's way of trying to heal itself."

"Will he wake up?"

Clark heaved a pensive sigh and closed his eyes, not able to bear staring into his young son's face in light of the facts before them. He especially knew just how fragile the human body was, and with the amount of blood loss his friend had suffered the night before…"We're not sure right now. He might wake up soon but then again, he might not."

Jason's eyes began to water as he thought about what it would mean to lose his Uncle: there'd be no more impromptu art lessons in the bullpen, no more babysitter who'd let him stay up late or read him extra bedtime stories and, as of recently, no more sharing secrets about his developing powers with his grown-up friend. The little boy couldn't help but grieve and his father held him close, Clark knowing full well what a small comfort his touch was to his child. Several minutes later, Jason exhausted his tears and wiped his red, puffy eyes on the sleeve of his navy blue shirt.

"Why don't you go pack some books and art stuff for the hospital, ok? We're going to be there awhile and you and your sister don't want to get bored." The boy nodded solemnly and made his way slowly to his room, still downcast.

Clark took a deep breath to steady himself and got up off the sofa, walking down the hallway toward his bedroom with tired, heavy steps. He grabbed a change of clothes for Lois and stuffed them into a nearby duffel bag before pulling off his shirt and tossing it into the laundry hamper, searching for a new one as his over-tired mind began to wander. Jim was his friend, but he was also so much more than that—he was such an integral part of the Kent family as a whole, Clark's life in particular, that to picture the world without Jim made him feel as though he'd lost a limb; Clark had no doubt that he would survive should Jim succumb to his injuries, but he doubted that he would be able to carry on living the way he had before.

He sank down on the end of his bed, clean shirt in hand, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. Only then, in the privacy of his own home, did Clark Kent allow himself to grieve over all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours.


	61. Chapter 61

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 3, 2010, 12:02 pm. **Lois returned to the waiting room in her fresh change of clothing to find a large tête-à-tête going on in the center of the room; Isabelle Nonte and Josh Olsen were holding court with an unknown man with salt and pepper hair and wearing a crisp, expensive-looking suit. She shot Clark a perplexed look where he sat on the periphery, watching the children color their drawings, and he urged her on with his eyes to investigate for herself.

"What do you think, Stephen?" Isabelle asked her companion as Lois approached.

The man in the navy blue pinstriped suit flipped through the charts and paperwork in his hands again and then back to the circle of anxious faces around him. "I think that right now the best course of action regarding Mr. Olsen's recovery is to simply let him rest; if there's still no change in twenty-four hours' time and he persists in the coma then I'll review the case personally, along with his physicians, and together we'll discuss the next best treatment option available. You have to understand that this is a substantial injury for the body to recover from…"

"What are the odds that he will wake up within the next twenty-four hours?" Jen chimed in from where she stood alongside her mother, supporting her.

"At this point, I'd have to give him a sixty percent chance of waking up and making a full recovery."

Perry perked up slightly at the news. "Well that's better than the forty/sixty odds they were giving him a few hours ago."

"I'm sorry, but who are you again?" Lois cut off the well-dressed man before he could speak again, effectively drawing all eyes on her.

Isabelle made the introductions. "This is Dr. Stephen Lassiter, Chief of the Metropolis General Intensive Care Unit and member of the Hospital Board with me. When my plane landed and I got Josh's message, I called Stephen on my way over to have him consult on the case. Stephen, this is Lois Lane-Kent, reporter for the _Daily Planet_ and friend of Mr. and Mrs. Olsen. She and her husband were with Jim at the time of the incident—or at least, that's what I've been told," she informed them, glancing at Josh for confirmation.

Lois nodded her head vigorously. "I was with him, but I didn't see it happen; I only saw Superman pull him out of the warehouse after the fact."

"I understand. You should know that we're doing everything in our power to help your friend, and from here on out," Dr. Lassiter said, turning to include the rest of the family that had gathered round, "I will be sure to update you on his condition on an hourly basis." He extended a hand toward the heiress at his side. "Isabelle, I'm glad you didn't hesitate to call me. Will I see you at the next Board meeting?"

"No, you'll be seeing me right here in one hour's time," she retorted smartly, shaking his hand firmly. He nodded reverently and ducked out the room.

"You've got quite a lot of friends in high places there, Miss Nonte," Lois said, glancing at the door as it swung shut.

She gave the reporter a tight smile. "I wouldn't call Stephen a friend so much as a man interested in my bank account and what it can do for his hospital. True friends are much, much more difficult to come by." Isabelle turned her attention back to Josh as the little circle disbanded and the pair moved off to a corner to talk about Jim's predicament in private. Lois resumed her seat beside Clark while Haley and Jason sat at a coffee table a few feet away, coloring Get Well cards for their Uncle Jim while under their Uncle Perry's watchful eye.

"She just told Josh that she only returned from Austria less than an hour ago, otherwise she would've been here sooner," Clark informed her as she sat down.

"What an odd pair—if Chloe hadn't told me about their friendship earlier I never would've believed it, not even with my own two eyes." He nodded in agreement. "Speaking of Chloe, have you seen her yet? Has she come out of Jim's room at all?"

Clark shook his head in the negative. "I haven't seen her and if earlier was any indication then I'm fairly certain she doesn't want to see me."

"Don't talk like that! She's just frightened and upset, that's why she's behaving this way; I've done similar things in her position."

He chanced a look at his wife and Lois could clearly see the pain in his once-clear blue eyes; they were muddied and clouded by his confusion and sense of helplessness. She held his hand tight as he swallowed hard and persisted in his speech. "Mom's in there with her now trying to get her to go home and sleep for a bit, or at least eat something, but Chloe won't budge."

Lois' eyes darted surreptitiously around the room before she spoke again. "And you haven't heard any changes regarding Jim's condition?" Their son turned to stare at them then, and Lois couldn't help but feel an odd tingle go up her spine; his piercing gaze eerily reminiscent of his father and she had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps their private conversation had not gone entirely unnoticed.

Again Clark shook his head in the negative. "There haven't been any changes since they wheeled him into recovery. If there had been, you would have been the first to know."

"I know, but I had to ask anyway, just to…"

"Be on the safe side, I understand." Clark clenched his jaw in self-reproach. "I only wish I'd been on the safer side of things last night. We never should've been there Lois…none of us should've been there."

* * *

**2:14 pm. **"I really don't think this is the time or the place to be questioning these people, Jack," Clarissa stated as they made their way swiftly down the hospital hallway, her eyes darting nervously to the small black box sticking out of his overcoat pocket. She'd spent the last half hour trying to dissuade him from his latest mission and had met with little success.

He stopped mid-stride, turning to look at her properly. "Look, I know these people are your friends and that they've been through hell, but they're the only ones who know _exactly_ what went on down there and I need to get the story from them while it's still fresh in their heads! For crying out loud, they're reporters for the _Daily Planet _and I'm the one that set them on Uncle in the first place! You think they wouldn't be doing the exact same thing to me if the situation were reversed?!"

She eyed the package again and frowned as he continued on down the hall without her. "I highly doubt they'd be doing the _exact_ same thing," she muttered to herself as she hastened to catch up.

* * *

Clark perked up and lifted his head off of Lois' where he had been drowsing fitfully for the last forty minutes. His wife continued to nap against his shoulder unaware while he listened with great interest to the familiar and the unfamiliar voices speaking about the two of them out in the hall.

As gently as he could, he nudged Lois awake and peered down into her sleep-filled face. "What is it? Is it Jim?" she mumbled as she straightened up, brushing the hair off her brow.

He sent a steely glance in the direction of the unopened doorway. "We're about to have company."

"Huh?" The monosyllabic question barely had time to roll off her tongue as the door was pushed open to admit two dark-suited figures.

* * *

Special Agent Jack Yeoh looked about the room to find a pair of hazel and cerulean eyes staring wearily back up at him and his partner, as if anticipating their arrival. He shook off the unsettling feeling and strolled over to the man seated beside Lois Lane-Kent, hand outstretched, automatically assuming he was her husband and the other half of the formidable Lane-Kent and Kent reporting duo that he had yet to properly meet. Clark had his arm wrapped around his wife in an overly-protective manner, yet Jack saw his strong façade falter slightly as he approached and the man visibly winced as he drew near.

"Good afternoon, I'm Special Agent…"

"Jack Yeoh," Clark finished for him, eying him and his outstretched hand suspiciously. "Hello to you too, Clarissa," he added, turning to the woman standing behind him.

She looked almost remorseful as she returned the greeting. "Hello again, Clark. Lois."

Special Agent Yeoh pushed on past the pleasantries. "May we speak to the two of you privately for a few minutes?" he asked, gesturing out toward the hallway. Neither reporter made a move out of their chairs which he found rather curious, considering how quick they were to call him to scene the other night. All the other occupants in the room were now watching the exchange with a great deal of curiosity. "Please?"

He watched as Mr. Kent pierced Clarissa with a hard look for a few moments before unfolding his towering frame out of the chair. "We'll speak to you, but only for a few minutes. Is that clear?"

"Well, we are going to need a full statement from you and Mrs. Lane-Kent down at Headquarters…"

"There is no room for negotiation, Special Agent. Get what you need from us now or not at all."

Jack clamped his mouth shut and nodded in understanding, stepping back to let the two journalists pass out of the room with Clarissa leading the way. _Maybe this __is__ going to be a lot harder than I originally thought…

* * *

_Clarissa hated the way Clark's eyes bore holes into her head as she walked into the room behind her colleague. _As if I had anything to do with this mess_, she told herself, shaking her head lamentably. His eyes flashed red briefly after the initial contact with the man and Clark quietly searched her face for answers.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered quietly as they exited the waiting room. "I tried to stop him from coming in here with it but he insisted; validation and stupid fragile male ego…"

Clarissa could almost hear her friend's teeth grind further in his head as they stepped more fully out into the hall.

* * *

Agent Yeoh reached into his jacket pocket for the small tape recorder he kept there, hitting the record button before placing it on a shelf full of blankets nearby. "I hope you don't mind, but this _is_ protocol."

"And is giving confidential FBI files to reporters protocol as well?" the tall man in front of him shot back, arms drawn defensively across his chest as if readying himself for a confrontation.

Jack hastened to turn off the device. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Special Agent Yeoh. You couldn't possibly believe that we'd follow the trail of bread crumbs you so conveniently dropped on our doorstep without looking into where they came from first, could you? We do work for the _Daily Planet_, after all." The scorn was clear in the reporter's voice.

His jaw went slack as he endeavored to find out just how they'd discovered his role in the leakage of the documents when Lois chimed in, seemingly reading his thoughts. "Don't quit your day job, Special Agent; a delivery man's pay is nowhere near comparable to what you're making now with the Bureau."

"So you've known since the beginning…?"

"Yes, we've known," Clark responded, cutting him off rather curtly.

A goofy, Cheshire cat-like grin spread across his face and Jack forced a laugh as he attempted to recover what little dignity he had left. "Right. Well then, I guess my faith in you was very well-founded, wasn't it?" he replied sheepishly; he kept rubbing his hands together nervously as his eyes darted from one reporter to the other. Mr. Kent's concentrated stare and dour demeanor were unnerving him greatly, considering how he'd been described as an affable, if somewhat mild-mannered, man. It was as if the person before him were someone else entirely.

"How can we help you, Agent Yeoh?" Lois asked pointedly.

"We came here to find out from you two how you were able to ascertain Uncle's identity and why you and your friend decided to take it upon yourselves to loose him from his hiding place on the East Side when you very well could have turned the information back over to me or my colleague; especially seeing as how you knew all along where your leads came from." Minutes passed, and when no answer was forthcoming, he spat out, "Was your drive for the story really more important than your own personal safety?! For God's sake, your friend's in a coma just down the hall!"

"Jack!" Clarissa hissed sharply, eyes wide with alarm.

* * *

Lois stepped in front of her husband in indignation, her long hair flying about her face, before Clark could even open his mouth. "Now you listen here, _Special Agent_; Clark, Jim and I were _verifying_ the facts on a story that _YOU_ set _US_ out on! If it hadn't been for you needing a couple of free investigators flying in under the Bureau's radar we never would have BEEN poking around in that part of town in the first place!" She turned to Clark for back-up only to register his lackluster eyes and sallow cheeks in addition to the frown on his face. _Something's not right, _she worried, just as Yeoh spoke again.

"So you don't know how your friend ended up _inside_ that warehouse, or how he got shot? And you haven't seen or spoken to Superman since we saw him along the waterfront carrying Mr. Olsen away?"

She turned around to face him fully once more, looking the FBI agent up and down until her eyes came to rest on the box sticking out of his pocket. "What's in that?" she asked, her voice dropping to near inaudible levels as she pointed at him.

Agent Yeoh was visibly caught off guard by the question. "I'm sorry?""What's in that?"

He looked down and pulled the box out of his coat pocket, holding it undecidedly in his grip before opening it up so she could get the full view. "We found these in the rubble; we suspect there's more, but how much more we really don't know quite yet. There were larger pieces there too—paper weights, statues, ash trays and the like. If it weren't so deadly to Superman, it would make for a fairly interesting art display over at the Vanderworth Museum." Inside the long, black box were several green-tinged trinkets: key rings, belt buckles, money clips—all were items that could easily be concealed on a person and all packed a wallop to a certain superhero. The Special Agent seemed surprised that Lois' curiosity didn't get the better of her and that she didn't automatically reach out to touch the evidence he had carried back from the scene; if anything, she appeared to recoil in fear, pressing herself more fully against her husband's chest while he brought a hand up to his temple as if he were shielding himself from an overly-bright glare.

Clarissa stepped forward, closing the box in his hands and speaking on behalf of both of her friends. "As best we can tell, this all ties back to Leroy Russell and Scott and Flora Mansell, the European artisans that the Police found murdered beneath a pier in the harbor, along with another John Doe. We suspect that Russell may have been hording large quantities of Kryptonite for several years while paying the Mansells to create pieces like these so that he could easily disperse them to whoever would most likely to protect themselves from Superman should he ever happen upon them. When the warehouse blew up last night, a good portion of the Kryptonite was unearthed; we're working double-time now to collect it all from the scene and safely cart it away where it won't hurt the Man of Steel anymore." The last part was uttered with extra emphasis, and Clarissa stared straight at Clark the whole time, her eyes full of unspoken apologies.

"Get out," Lois said through clenched teeth.

Agent Yeoh feigned temporary hearing loss. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"You heard me, now get out," she snarled, glaring at him like a lioness to a kill and pointing at the elevator at the other end of the hall.

"This isn't the last you'll hear from us," the Agent replied. "Whether or not your friend lives long enough for us to take his statement or not, we'll still need to get yours too—for the record."

"GET OUT!" Lois lost all patience with the dawdling man and hurled the tape recorder he'd left behind at his head, missing him by mere inches. The device crashed loudly to the floor and broke into several hundred pieces.

Clarissa reached out and touched her tentatively on the forearm. "I am so sorry; I really did try to stop him," she said before following her co-worker down the hall and disappearing beside him into the elevator.

Lois examined Clark's face before snuggling in close to his chest. "That awful, awful man!! First he practically accuses us of pulling the trigger on Jim, then we find out he's carrying around Kryptonite like it's some sort of carnival trophy!!!! I mean _come on_!!!"

"I know," he agreed, wrapping one hand around her while pinching the bridge of his nose with his left; Clark shook his head vigorously as the pain receded now that more distance was put between him and the overzealous agent. "But neither of us should have been so short with him, especially me. Just look at how fast he came to our rescue when we did call—and with the entire cavalry with him too, no less."

"You're right, I know, it's just...ERGH!!! It's Jimmy and you and this whole mess, it's just too much!" she cried out, pressing her face closer against him and wrenching his shirt in her hands. Then, in a small voice, she added, "Clark, what if Jim doesn't wake up? What then?"

He inhaled deeply and stared off down the hallway, peeling away the layers of paint, plaster and wood until he came upon Chloe sitting vigil at Jim's bedside. Her forehead was touching the hand that lay limply on the crisp hospital sheet and her lips moved quickly in prayer, though no sound came out.

"I don't know, Sweetheart," he admitted to her, sounding just as defeated. "I just don't know."

* * *

**5:58 pm. **There was an unusual pulsing sensation feeding into the palm of his right hand; it came about in odd spurts and jabs, sometimes more sharply then others, but the feeling persisted until Jim opened his eyes. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, the bright white light of his surroundings blinding him with their intensity, and he struggled to make the world beyond stop spinning.

_Where am I?_ he wondered as his fuzzy vision slowly came into focus. Jim attempted to twist his head but the weight around his body was oppressive and he felt as though he were secured in place by an over-large vice. He tried to speak, to call for help, but no sound came out; an odd, rough, device tasting vaguely of plastic was pressed firmly up against his tongue and lodged down his throat. Waves of panic rolled over him as he subconsciously flashed back to his time spent strapped to Theresa Russo's torture table, listening to her spew her bitter diatribe against men while preparing to gut him like a hapless fish.

He struggled to make some movement—any movement—that might bring about his rescue.

* * *

Chloe had fallen asleep in the chair beside her husband, both hands wrapped around Jim's good one as she clutched it to the top of her full stomach. Only when it slipped from her grasp did she return to full consciousness with an overwhelming sense of dread, feeling as though his life were slipping away from her as swiftly as his hand and she was powerless to stop it. She stared down at the pillow where he lay only to find him staring straight at the ceiling with a scared and feral look in his eyes; he was searching for escape, though she could only guess why when he was safe and secure in his hospital bed. The ends of his mouth clenched and unclenched as he fought in vain against the ventilator hose that had kept his breathing regular over the last several, uncertain hours.

"Jimmy!" she whispered sharply, afraid that if she spoke any louder, it would all prove to be a dream. With great effort, her husband turned his head ever so slightly in her direction and looked upon her with frightened eyes.

She hastened up out of her chair as quickly as her swollen midsection would let her and stood beside him, brushing his unkempt hair away from his face and speaking in soothing tones as a happy sob escaped her throat. "It's alright, you're alright, you're going to be alright…the doctors had to put the breathing tube down your throat for the surgery but now that you're awake…oh Jim, I'm so glad you're alright!!!! You don't know how worried we all were! Your mom, your brother, your sisters, Dad, Perry, Martha, Lois, the kids—we've all been waiting here at the hospital for you to wake up! You scared us so much!" Jim dipped his head once in understanding, a small tear escaping and rolling down towards his ear. "It's alright," she reassured him, ignoring the potential mental and physical damage the trauma may have left him with, simply glad that he was alert after all those tense hours of waiting.

His gaze focused at the wall over her right shoulder as he caught sight of a small dry erase board hung there by the nurses. The nurse on duty usually scrawled words of encouragement to the patients and their families in bright, cheerful ink; occasionally she would leave instructions when her rotation ended. Jim struggled to lift his hand up and point at the board, urging his wife to notice it as well.

"What is it? Do you want to write something on it, is that it?" He nodded again and she tugged it from its Velcro backing, wiping it off with her sleeve before holding it up near his good hand. She tucked the marker awkwardly in-between his fingers and watched his hand jerk slowly across the board; his concentration and effort reminded her of learning to print her name for the first time as a small child. Chloe pushed the Call button on the headboard as she waited for Jim to finish his message, her whole body suffused with energy as she beamed for joy over his return to consciousness and seemingly good health. When Jim was through, he tapped the board with his marker and she brought it up to her face, working hard to make out his handwriting.

"CK ok?" his shaky scrawl asked.

The glee quickly left her pale face and the corners of her full mouth turned down in a full-on grimace, leaving Chloe unable to answer her husband's innocent question aloud.


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N:** I do not own any Pixar characters discussed herein, I'm merely borrowing them for a little while.

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 4, 2010, 8:33 am. **"Nice shirt," Jim's hoarse voice called out as his bearded brother filed into the room behind his mother and sisters, with Ian Sullivan and Perry White bringing up the rear. It was their second time seeing Jim since he woke up less than twelve hours earlier and the continued relief at his recovery was evident in everyone's faces as they walked in the door.

Josh grabbed the front of the too-tight, bright green shirt that read "Ace o' Clubs, St. Patty's Day 2006", looked down, and laughed. "Yeah, I know, right? What can I say, you didn't have much else in your closet that looked like it would fit me."

"Tell me about it," Justin chimed in, entering the room wearing what had been an early Father's Day gift from Chloe when she discovered she was pregnant; it was a bright red, orange and black 'Mr. Incredible' t-shirt, the bottom of which barely reached Justin's belt buckle.

Jim cracked up when he caught sight of his youngest brother. "Don't stretch that out, I'll need that!" he wheezed, teasing Justin a bit before sobering up a minute later. "Sorry about not giving you guys much of a chance to pack."

Cheryl sat by his side, her hand on his shoulder, alternately scolding him and smothering him with her love. "Shh, James; the doctors told you to rest your voice for a while after having that tube in there so long. Here, have some water…or maybe you'd like a little juice?" He nodded in agreement and reached for the cup on his nightstand which she promptly snatched away from him and held up to his lips. She tilted the cup too high too quickly and he spluttered on the excess in his mouth, causing it to dribble down his chin. "I'm so sorry! Oh, look at the mess I made! Oh…"

Jim clasped his mother's arm as she prepared to clean him up, and gazed upon her with sensitive brown eyes. "It's alright, Mom," he said reassuringly. "It's alright." Those two words spoke volumes to her and it was all she could do just to nod her head in agreement as tears welled in her eyes. Jill quickly wrapped her arms around her mother's neck in a hug while Chloe grabbed a handful of tissues out of a nearby box for both mother and child.

"It's good to see you awake and alert, Son," Ian issued from the opposite side of the bed, patting Jim's knee.

"That goes double for me too, young man," Perry added, standing with his hands on the footboard. Jim glanced around at the rapidly-filling hospital room, taking stock of who was and was not there.

"Thanks. Say, where's…?"

"Brian and Owen?" Jenny finished for him, from her spot by the window. "The baby had to be changed, so Brian's taking care of it in the men's room down the hall. We thought we'd save you the sight and smell of a dirty diaper until your own were born."

"Har har, Sis. Thanks. And what about…"

Lois burst in the door then, her eyes matching the red hue of her cheeks; the latter from the cold, whipping wind derived from free flight, the former from the happy tears she continued to shed at Jim's seemingly miraculous recovery. "I thought visiting hours didn't start until 9?" she announced breathlessly.

"They don't," the Editor-in-Chief answered. "But Cheryl here laid siege to the nurses' station for a full twenty minutes demanding to be let in immediately; there was nothing they could do but submit."

The woman in question looked up from dabbing at her still-wet eyes. "Perry, I'd hardly call what I did laying siege—maybe more like…"

"Cajoling?" Jill inserted for her.

Cheryl shot her youngest daughter a look. "_Noooo_; I was _going_ to say petitioning, thank you very much. I petitioned to be let in early and my request was granted, simple as that." The whole room couldn't help but chuckle at the woman's choice of words; there wasn't much anyone could say to dissuade Cheryl Olsen when she was on a mission, especially insofar as her children were concerned.

When he recovered from his mirth, Ian looked to the door behind Lois. "Where are Martha and Clark? Didn't they come with you?"

The young reporter drew her lips into a thin line. "I'm afraid Martha's a bit over-tired, so Clark and I decided to let her rest a little longer. He's with her now, back at our place." Jim, Ian and Perry all nodded in agreement with the decision as Brian entered the room carrying his freshly-diapered infant son.

"You're looking good," he remarked to his brother-in-law as he passed the baby into his wife's arms.

"Thanks, so do you."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air of the room as everyone stood around, searching for something to say and looking very somber and pensive.

"So, how was everyone's flight with Superman?" Jim asked, perking up as a mischievous grin briefly flitted across his face. Chloe rolled her eyes while Lois hid a knowing smile behind her hand.

"Oh my gosh, it was so surreal seeing him on our front doorstep, standing there as if he'd known where we lived all along! And we were standing there in our pajamas too, wondering what in the heck was going on… It was all so bizarre!" Jen announced, the shock of the Man of Steel's unexpected arrival two nights previous still very much apparent.

"He knew where I lived too, and knocked on the door as if it were the most natural thing to be coming to my house at quarter to ten in the evening!" Cheryl replied, the same astonishment in her voice as in her daughter's. "Scared me half to death just standing there, scratching his head as if he couldn't think of a thing to say. And that flight! There he was, carrying Jen and Brian's minivan on his _shoulders_ and _flying_ us all to Metropolis as if it were the most natural thing in the world!!!"

Ian nodded in agreement. "I know! I don't care how natural it may seem to him, I'll take a good old 747 over his arms any day. He just carried the two of us, and I'm honestly surprised that Martha wasn't a bit more upset by it all—she sat there calm as could be, as if she'd flown with him every other day of her life."

"Perhaps she was just in too much shock to really register what was going on, Dad," Chloe said. Lois glanced over at her haggard-looking friend with nothing but gratitude in her heart; Chloe was covering for Clark even now, when she was still so upset with him she couldn't even acknowledge his existence.

Perry added, "You know, he's saved my life on more than one occasion and let me tell you, I'd trust those arms over a flying tin can any day of the week…"

* * *

**10:16 am. **The nurses had ushered everyone out of the room—save for Chloe—shortly after 9:30 so that they could go about the business of re-dressing Jim's wound and checking his vitals. When they were through, the young couple took the opportunity to spend a few minutes alone with each other; their first since Jim had awoken the night before.

Jim reached over and took a sip of his water to help his healing throat. "Chloe, we should really talk about what happened…"

"You know, it's a good thing you woke up when you did," she announced cheerfully, purposely interrupting him and glossing over the seriousness of his tone. "We still haven't finished our list of potential names for the twins. Let's see, I think we left off on the letter M—what about Marianne for a girl?

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so; I knew a Marianne once and she wasn't very nice."

"Ok…Mary-Kate? Do you like Mary-Kate?"

Jim shot her an incredulous look. "Really, Clo? It's bad enough that the two of them will forever be known as the 'Olsen Twins', but now you want to name one of them Mary-Kate?"

A hand flew up to her mouth. "Aha, I completely forgot! Ha ha, oh that could've been so bad…"

"Honey, I think you need to stop trying to name our children and face the real issue here—what got me in here in the first place."

She threw the list down on the bed exasperatedly and forced a smile on her face. "Jim, we really don't have to talk about this, not now when you're just starting to recover. I know all about how Clark backed you into a corner—you did what you thought you had to do, and as his friend and guardian of his secret I get it, but he still shouldn't have risked…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA! You got it all wrong!" he cried out emphatically. Jim braced himself with his good arm and forced himself into a more upright position against the pillows so he could be at eye-level with his wife. "Is that what he told you happened? That it was _his fault_?"  
Refusing to admit to her husband that her blind rage had made her a little fuzzy on the details, she replied, "Pretty much, yes."

Jim brought his good hand up to his brow. "Oh man...wow…I knew he…but this…even for him…"

Chloe, annoyed, brushed back a wisp of blond hair that snuck into her line of vision. "Since you seem so intent on having this conversation _now_, would you mind finishing a complete thought somewhere in there?"

He reached out over the metal sidebar along his bed, taking her hand in his. "You have to understand something," he began quietly, "Everything that happened was because of decisions _I _made; not me and Lois, not me and Lois and Clark but me, just me. There was no arm twisting, there was no coaxing…these were _my_ choices, Clo, mine alone." Jim stroked the back of her hand soothingly, trying his best to brace her for what was to come. "I didn't want to tell you that we had discovered who Uncle was and that we were staking out potential hideouts because I knew you'd think it was too dangerous and that you'd worry."

"Oh well, silly me, look how wrong I was there," she scoffed, rolling her eyes and attempting to disengage her hand from his; he held firm to her, instead persisting in giving her a full account of his dealings with the late Leroy Russell.

"It was just after the 8:30 check-in that night that I saw some movement along the waterfront and went in to investigate. I purposefully didn't call Clark because I didn't want to bother him in case it turned out to be nothing, and in the event that it turned out to be _something_, I didn't want him to be near the Kryptonite; we both know what it's done to him in the past and I didn't want to put him through that again if I could help it."

"But why didn't you call Lois? Surely she could have helped!"

"Because—again—if it turned out to be _something_ I didn't want her to get in the middle of it. Not only does she get a bit near-sighted in the middle of an investigation but we both know how trouble seems to follow her, and wherever she is, CK is never too far behind."

"So what, you took it upon yourself to ferret out the drug lord?! Like _that_ was the safest option available to you!!!" she squawked, incensed by his casual attitude.

"No, you're not listening to me; I was trying to save him the trouble…" He made the flying motion with his hand.

"Then this was all about making matters convenient for a _superhero_?"

Jim rolled his eyes now, his frustration mounting the harder he tried to get her to listen to him. He opted to try a different tact. "You know he's more than that, Clo; it was all about protecting Clark and watching his back—I didn't realize just how much I was in over my head until we were _both_ in trouble." Jim decided to rush through the next part before she lost her patience with him entirely.

"Uncle's men grabbed me and knocked me out shortly after I broke into their basement. When I came to it was too late—Clark was already on the scene. He rushed in after me without thinking about the danger he was putting himself in, all because he knew I was in trouble. Only he was so busy trying to find a way for us to escape that he didn't realize just how much Kryptonite there was in the room.

"Honey, it was everywhere and he didn't even see it. Uncle and his men _changed_ it somehow; it was as potent as ever but it was embedded in everything...like knick knacks and stuff we might buy and keep around the apartment, only this time the stuff was chock-full of Kryptonite. The guy even put it in a lampshade! What kind of sicko does that?!?" Jim paused and sighed, momentarily feeling the weight of the evil in the world on his shoulders, the evil that his friend Clark faced down everyday from all four corners of the globe. "He was aiming for Clark from the get-go; CK didn't stand a chance, and we both knew that for sure the second the gun was pulled. Uncle made some crack about Luthor—I don't know why—just before he pulled the trigger, and I made the decision then and there to jump…and dammit if I didn't make the right one!" Jim cried out sharply. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "If I hadn't we might both have died."

"But _you_ still could have!!!!!" she shouted back at him. "Or do you not remember the tube that was shoved down your throat that kept you breathing all day yesterday?!?! Did you even **think** about the consequences, Jim?! What would have happened to your mom and your siblings?! What about _our_ children?! What about me!?! How could you have been so reckless?!?!?"

"It wasn't recklessness," he stated simply. "It was what had to be done." As a side note, Jim added, "He's too important to die."

Chloe stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief, the color draining from her cheeks. It was appalling to her that her husband no longer appeared able to distinguish the man from the cape that he wore. She rose up from her chair without another word to him and made to quit the room when Cheryl re-entered to sit by her son's side. Chloe turned to face Jim once more as she stood in the doorway. "You're too important too—too important to this family, or did you forget about that!?!"

She stalked off without waiting for a reply.

* * *

**2:04 pm.** Clark stood before the altar in the front pew of the small hospital chapel, his large hands clasped around the railings, his shoulders slumped. He was thankful—_sooo_ thankful—that Jim seemed to be on the mend, and yet he couldn't bring himself to speak with his friend about what happened. Not yet.

"Are you sure you're not Catholic?" Chloe called out, her even-tempered voice slicing the still air of the sanctuary in two as she slipped into the room.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, unsure of what new game she was playing, then pushed the glasses back up his face and turned to look at her. "Not since the last time I checked," he retorted. "Why?"

"Because you carry around so much guilt like one." She moved forward into the sanctuary, settling herself down two pews away from him, and placed a hand languidly over her stomach.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?" He leaned against the railing, arms folded protectively across his chest. Sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows over his left shoulder, bathing him in rich red, yellow and blue hues; even as a man in plain clothes it appeared that he could not escape the symbols of his own higher calling.

"No, not a joke, just the truth." She shifted over further into the pew, making room for him to sit beside her; when he made no move forward, she resignedly lowered her head. "Jim told me everything this morning—and I do mean _everything_, Clark—and I know you're not responsible for what happened to him." When he made no move to acknowledge he'd heard her, she continued. "Well? Aren't you going to say something? Perhaps an 'I tried to tell you so'?"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked her after a moment.

"Knowing you, I should think this would make you feel loads better, yes."

He turned on her angrily. "Well it doesn't, ok?! I'm still responsible, Chloe; whether or note he thinks so or you think so _I_ _know_ that I am responsible and it still haunts me!" Clark took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair as he struggled not to lose control over his temper. "I've been thinking about it all night, and the only logical explanation I can come up with for Jim acting the way that he did was because he was trying to protect me. _ME_, of all people! If this had happened a year ago, he never would've gone in, he would've waited outside! If he…" He lowered his voice, not wanting to chance being heard by any passers-by in the hall outside, "If he didn't know about me and my _abilities_ and my weaknesses, he never would've gone down there to search for Uncle on his own! Jim knew that that man had Kryptonite AND he knew how I _felt, _physically and emotionally, when I was around it, and I just know that that's why he went down there, to save me from it!" Clark began vigorously pacing the room.

'_How can you be so blasé about Kryptonite? That stuff can kill you!_'

'_Because if I didn't joke about it I'd probably never want to leave the apartment, and then where would the world be?_'

He pressed on. "If Jim wasn't so intent on protecting me, he never would have gotten shot."

"But you went in there too! You knew full well what that man had in store for you in that warehouse, you knew that you might not walk out again, and yet you still went in there to try and save him!"

He slammed a hand down on the rail for emphasis, only stopping himself short of breaking it in half. "Dammit it doesn't work like that anymore!" he replied as if he hadn't heard her at all.

"_IT _doesn't work like _what_?!" she shouted back, finally losing her cool with him.

"I'm not the one who's supposed to need saving! I'm the one who's supposed to be taking all the risks and _doing_ the saving, not Jim!" Chloe leaned back in her seat as if she'd been blown over by a gale force wind while Clark ceased his pacing and leaned his forehead against the wall, defeated. "After Luthor, I never thought I'd be put in the position again where someone would have to save me, let alone that someone being Jim," he stated faintly. He turned to stare at her, his blue eyes watery with remorse. "He could have died, Clo."

"But he didn't."

"But he could have."

"But he _didn't_," she repeated, this time with greater emphasis. "And we're _all_ going to have to remember that, you and me especially. But the two of you also need to figure out where you stand after all this; it's clear to me that Jim is still struggling with separating who you are from what you can do—he jumped in front of that bullet last night thinking that _Clark Kent_ was in trouble when Superman may well have had the situation in hand."

Clark deliberated on that a moment. "You're right, although not about Superman having things under control," he replied after a moment's silence, turning to look at her once again. With deliberate steps, he picked his way over to the empty seat beside her and sat down. "I haven't had things go so wrong so quickly since my kidnapping. Jim saved my life by almost losing his, but if he had realized that it was Superman handling the situation and not _me_, personally, he might never have left his car and endangered us both in the first place."

The pair of them stared ahead at the altar, each lost in their own thoughts, and Chloe slipped her small, pale hand over his large one reassuringly. "You need to talk to him, Clark; you need to talk to him and make him understand. We're all here for you, and I know you know that, but he needs to know that he doesn't have to risk life and limb for you every time you take off somewhere. He needs to know his limits."

"I know," he responded; however, he made no move toward the door.

"Will you at least promise to talk to him soon?" She watched as a silent tear slipped down the side of his face.

"Soon." The young man took a deep breath and brushed a tuft of hair off his face. "I didn't know that he hadn't told you, Clo, about what we were doing—and I _never_ counted on Leroy ever pulling a Luthor," he admitted to her quietly, not able to bring himself to look her in the eye.

"I wouldn't go around popularizing that catchphrase if I were you."

"What 'catchphrase'?"

"'Pulling a Luthor', Clark? Really? That wicked man made it his mission to try and _kill _you, and now you want to immortalize him and his efforts by referencing his name anytime someone else makes a similar attempt?"

"Oh."

"Exactly." She squeezed his hand gently, finally allowing herself to relax and be at ease for the first time in days.


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N: **Sorry I haven't been able to respond to the reviews like I usually do, but know that I do appreciate them. Hopefully this chapter will clear up some confusion brought up in Chapter 62. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital**_**, November 4, 2010, 4:27 pm. **Kirsten looked up as she made her way toward the nurses' station at the end of her shift and caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man staring intently at the name plate beside the patient's door, a brown paper bag clasped in one hand. She studied him as she walked—it was hard _not_ to notice him, given his stature and the intensity of his gaze behind his thick-rimmed glasses—and she decided he looked like he could use a hand.

"Do you need some help, Sir?" she asked, peering up into the man's face.

He started and turned, noticing her for the first time, and ducked his head so he could be closer to eye-level with her petite 5'4" frame. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I asked if you needed any help."

"Oh." He glanced between the name plate and her face once again. "No, no, I'm alright—I'm just trying to think of what to say to my friend in there."

Kirsten turned toward the nameplate by the door and read the name. "You mean Mr. Olsen?" she asked, unintentionally beaming as his name rolled off her tongue. "I should think you wouldn't find it very difficult to talk to him, especially if you're a friend. He keeps telling us how much he hates hospitals and pretending to be upset but he's actually a very good patient and his wife is just so nice. His mother, on the other hand…"

The tall man smirked. "She's a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure."

"That's an understatement." The man beside her laughed heartily at the swiftness of her retort before clasping a hand over his mouth, lest his mirth disturb the other patients on the floor. She waited until his chuckling died down before speaking again. "You know, he's one of the luckier ones around here; many of them will never wake up, let alone recover from their injuries; but he will, given he rests for a few weeks and gets some rehab for his arm. Perhaps you could tell him that?"

"Yes," he replied quietly, staring intently at the wooden door once more. "That's exactly what I'll tell him. Thank you."

"Glad I could help." She parted company and continued off down the hall, glad to have been of some assistance to the man behind her.

* * *

Clark took a deep breath as the sound of the young nurse's heels echoed off down the hall, before smoothing the front of his shirt and ruffling his hair as he prepared to enter Jim's room. There was no going back as a quick, decisive rap at the door sealed his fate.

"Come in," Jim's voice called out cheerily from the other side.

He pushed open the door slowly, slipping inside and letting it swing shut behind him unassisted as he studied his friend. The shirtless photographer sat propped up in bed a magazine open in his lap, the light streaming in from the setting sun outside his window serving to frame him against the pale white pillows at his back. Several flower baskets dotted the shelves throughout the room, while a handful of cards stood atop a nearby nightstand; Clark recognized the doodles on two of them as being from the hands of his own children. His friend gazed upon him with brown eyes full of surprise as well as pleasure at his unexpected visit, and he quickly flung the reading material aside.

* * *

Jim propped a magazine awkwardly in his lap with his right hand while his left arm lay pressed against his chest in a sling. Copious amounts of white gauze bandaging had been wrapped around the upper left portion of his body, providing a thick layer of sterile padding over his wound; still, spots of blood managed to seep through and stain it crimson, signaling that his body was still struggling to heal itself.

"Hey," he called out, startled by Clark's sudden appearance. He hastily threw the magazine aside on the table next to his bed and gestured to the empty chair beside his bed. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," Clark replied, sitting down while gripping the top of the bag tightly in both hands. He fiddled with the paper a moment longer, letting the silence hang in the air, before remembering himself. "I brought you some fresh chicken soup. Mom made it; she thought it might help speed up the recovery effort." He reached out and passed off the plastic container of Martha's soup, still warm from simmering on the stove, and placed it in Jim's lap.

"Alright! Oh man, you don't know how sick I'm getting of puddings and shakes and having everything pureed—and it's only been one whole day! Thank your Mom too for sending me my first semi-solid food."

"Will do." Clark straightened up in his seat, his hands on his knees, while Jim placed the container on top of the magazine he'd been reading. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," the photographer chuckled, attempting to gloss over the painful truth with his trademark humor. "But other then that, I'm not doing too badly; maybe it's all the pain meds I'm hopped up on. The docs say I'm going to make a full recovery, so I guess that's some good news…"

"That's _very_ good news," his friend intoned seriously, cutting him off. The small smile that had spread across Jim's face rapidly vanished and he nodded solemnly in agreement.

"You're right, you're absolutely right, it is good news. I dodged a bullet this time—well, not literally, but you know what I mean," he added, laughing good-naturedly once again as he tried to joke the elephant in the room away.

Having none of his friend's humor, Clark rose up from his seat and walked over to the window, nearly engulfing the glass with his expansive frame. "Do you know just how lucky you are to be alive right now, Jim? Do you really?"

Jim's laugh died instantly on his lips. "Yes."

"Because I don't think that you do." His friend was staring at him, hard, scrutinizing every feature on his face.

"What!?"

"Not only should you never have jumped in front of that bullet but you shouldn't have even been down there in the first place," Clark cried out all in one breath, turning on his heel away from the window and gesturing wildly with his hands. "I could have had it all under control!"

"With all the Kryptonite he had in there, are you crazy?!" Jim countered. "Is that why you haven't been in to see me all day, because you were _mad _at me for trying to spare _you_ pain and then for saving _your _life?!?!" the bed-ridden man hissed furiously.

"Yes! No! I don't know!" Clark re-crossed the space and flopped back down into the chair he'd just vacated. "I've spent the better part of the day beating myself up over what happened and then…"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Jim cut in, very uncharacteristically. "How much guilt are you going to heap on yourself for something you had no control over?! _I_ let myself into the warehouse, _I_ got caught, and _I_ saw the Kryptonite in the room when you tried to save _me_! It's not like you pushed me in front of the bullet, for God's sake; it was _my_ decision! When's everybody going to get that through their thick heads?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you! I was never given the chance to get control of the situation! By putting yourself right in the middle of everything you took away any edge I might have had!" Clark shouted back. "If you hadn't known about my abilities and my weaknesses, you _never_ would've gone in there, let alone gotten hurt. You're not invincible, you know!"

"And sometimes neither are you!" the photographer hurled back. Both men narrowed their eyes at one another menacingly before Clark broke his gaze, tossing his head aside disgustedly.

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do," he replied flippantly. "Next time why don't you try telling me something that Chloe _hasn't_ already told me a hundred times before?"

His anger got the better of him, and he unintentionally gripped the metal hand rest of the seat too tight; Jim watched in amazement out of the corner of his eye as his friend released his hold on the chair, revealing five very distinct finger indentations left in the metal.

"She's right, you know."

"Who is?" he asked, shaken out of his reverie by Clark's question.

"Chloe. She was also right when she told me that you hadn't figured out the difference yet."

"The difference between what?"

"The difference between me and Superman."

* * *

Jim scoffed openly at the ridiculousness of Clark's statement. "Of course I know the difference! You're you, Clark Kent, a guy I work with and pal around with; you're also a guy who happens to wear spandex and a cape and fly around the world helping people." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I'm actually kind of hurt that you think I don't know who you are; I thought we were better friends then that."

"It's not about our friendship Jim, it never has been," Clark replied, "It's about making sure that, from now on, you do things for the right reasons _and_ that you don't get hurt in the process. You need to know your limits."

"Again, this, coming from a guy whose nickname is 'The Man of Steel'." He laughed outright at the irony.

Clark ignored him, coming back to his point. "Why did you leave the car, Jimmy? Why didn't you call for me or Lois before investigating the warehouse?"

Jim took a sip of water from a cup on the tray next to his bed, then put it down and sighed, rolling his eyes. "This question again? I did it because I wanted to make sure there wasn't any Kryptonite on the scene that could hurt you, and I didn't want to drag Lois into the middle of any danger unnecessarily."

"Yet you put yourself in harm's way. Why?" his friend continued to prod him, seemingly calm as could be.

"Because somebody has to watch your back!" Jim cried out in exasperation.

"But _I_ can watch my back; that's the point! _You_ need to see me as Clark when I'm Clark and Superman when I'm Superman and recognize that I can, in fact, handle emergencies when they arise!" he cried out, the flimsy glasses that were his only disguise going on and off his face just to hammer the point home.

Slowly, Jim began to understand; he'd been so caught up in thinking of his actions in the context of saving his friend that he'd neglected the possibility that there may have been a safer method for all of them when it came to approaching Uncle.

In a quiet, hesitant voice, he asked, "Were you ever even planning on going in there? I mean, when and if we found him, that is?"

Clark shook his head firmly, his dark locks falling in front of his face and hiding his regal curl. "No, never. I _never_ intended for any of us to go in there, especially after I learned first-hand just how much Kryptonite Leroy had at his disposal and how he was using it. I always thought that we would find Uncle and turn our information over to the authorities while still getting the scoop for Perry."

He broke his gaze away from his friend's, staring intently at the end of his bed. His anger at his own stupidity was written all over his face, as his hero-worshipping eyes had finally been opened to the truth; that Clark was an ordinary, fallible man, just like himself. He also realized that the situation he'd found himself in that fateful night had been of his own making, even more so then he previously realized.

"DAMMIT!" The cry startled Clark and he stared upon his friend with surprised blue eyes as Jim kicked the footboard in disgust with himself and his behavior. "Just…just…DAMMIT!!!" he shouted again, his face contorted and red. Jim brought his hand up and blindly sent it crashing down on the side table, upsetting the soup and sending several magazines and cards sliding to the floor. He reached out and clutched the blanket beside him. "DAMMIT!!!"

"Is there a problem in here?" Clark turned to see the nurse from the hallway standing in the doorway, having come to investigate the commotion. He whipped back around to gaze upon the man in the bed.

Jim laid there, the blue crumpled blanket still twisted in his grasp, breathing slowly in and out. "No," he replied through clenched teeth, shooting a contemptuous look at the doorway.

"Are you sure?" she asked again, turning her gaze to the tall man in the chair.

Another look at Jim's attempt at composure made Clark answer in the affirmative. "Yes, we're fine," he stated quietly, watching her as she slowly backed out of the room. He turned his attention back to the bed. "Are we fine, Jim?"

The younger man heaved a sad sigh. The setting sun, along with the waning color in his cheeks, seemed to throw into sharp relief the dark, haunted circles that seemed to have sprung up under his eyes in the last five minutes. "I…" he began, before trailing off, his thoughts so scattered he couldn't form a full sentence. "I…I think I need some time. You've given me a lot…" Jim faltered in his speech for the second time in as many minutes and he glanced sadly at his friend. "A lot to think about."

Clark set his mouth grimly and nodded once in Jim's direction before unfurling his broad form out of the chair. "I understand." He moved towards the door before stopping dead in his tracks. "Jim?"

"Yes?" the man in question replied, staring up at his friend with a puzzled look on his face.

"I am sorry, for everything. Maybe if I…"

Jim held up a hand. "There's nothing to be sorry for, CK; it was my own stupid fault."

"It wasn't stupid," Clark intoned firmly. "You saved my life."

"Yeah," the other man scoffed. "A life _I _put in jeopardy because I confused you with your alter-ego." The photographer was surprised to hear his friend let loose a low chuckle.

"Hey now, nobody said being friends with me was easy." Clark had the satisfaction of watching a small grin spread across Jim's face.

"True…so, will I see you tomorrow? If you're not too busy doing, you know, _other_ things?"

With a genuine smile and his hand on the door, he replied, "Absolutely; there's no place else in the world I'd rather be."

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 5, 2010, 7:45 am. **Chloe had managed to sneak away from the family members staying in their apartment and arrived at the hospital earlier than usual. The nursing staff allowed her in to visit her husband without too much grief, especially once they saw that her mother-in-law was nowhere in sight, and she wordlessly slipped into Jim's room.

He sat propped up in bed, resting against the pillows and staring out the window to his left as the sun began to rise up over the City. Jim's hair was greatly mussed and his eyes were dark and puffy, as if he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before either. She knew that he'd heard her enter the room but he hadn't stirred, as he was lost in thought, and Chloe assumed that he thought she was one of the nursing staff.

Stealthily, she crept over to his side and leaned over, placing a tender, loving kiss on his cheek. He shook himself thoroughly out of his daydream, startled by her arrival, and swung about in bed to face her. "Chloe!"

"Good morning to you too, Sunshine," she retorted, her mood considerably lighter than it had been the previous day. He reached out and snuck his arm around her, resting his head on her stomach; she returned the gesture, raking her fingers through his hair while they embraced.

"I am so sorry, Clo."

"I know," she whispered, continuing to stroke the back of his head.

Jim drew a deep breath to steady himself. "I don't know what I was thinking. You, the kids—I don't want to miss any of this…" He held a hand out over her stomach, fingers splayed wide, as he spoke.

"I don't want you to miss this either."

"I don't know what I was thinking; I don't think I even _was_ thinking."

Chloe stepped back a bit, forcing her husband to lean back in bed and look up and into her keen green eyes. "Jim, it's not that you weren't thinking, it's just…the things you know now, that you only _just_ learned a little while ago—it's a lot for any person to process. And just because he can do the extraordinary things he can do, doesn't mean you have to hero worship him anymore like you used to. He's a man, same as you…in fact, you're very much like him in some ways."

"Come again?"

"I said you're very much like _Clark_," she stated with emphasis as a smile graced her face. "You're so kind and considerate and you help out others without even a second thought, taking care of them sometimes more than you take care of yourself—I fell in love with _that_ open-hearted man and married _that_ wonderful man, but now I need you to take a step back and look out for yourself just a little bit more. We've both got much bigger responsibilities coming our way, and while what you did the other night was noble, it was also rash, and it almost got you killed." A tiny foot kicked into her gut and Chloe brought a hand up, rubbing the spot gently. "The three of us here, we need you too."

"I know, and I can't tell you enough how sorry I am; I really thought I was helping."

"Believe me, if and when Clark needs your help he'll be sure to let you know—and don't worry, Superman will too."

A tight smile crossed Jim's face as she stressed the separation between their friend's two identities, and Chloe had the satisfaction of watching a little bit of the old gleam return to his eyes. He pulled himself over to the far side of the bed with great care and threw back the covers, motioning for her to join him.

"Are you sure? It'll be a tight fit," she remarked, attempting to look down at her feet only to find the view blocked by her pregnant girth. He nodded in return and she settled herself on her back beside him.

They spent the morning cuddled together like that, their sanctuary interrupted only occasionally by the hospital staff, and almost constantly by Cheryl Olsen.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 12, 2010, 11:33 am. **"Oh man, it is SOOO good to be home!!!" Jim exclaimed as his brother-in-law helped him through the front door of his apartment. Together, the two men maneuvered their way around the suitcases and makeshift bedding strewn about the living room floor.

"You mean you _didn't_ like being in the hospital?" Brian joked, a sly grin plastered to his face as he elbowed his wife's brother gently in the ribs. Jim had been lobbying for an early release for a little over a week but only just this morning did the doctors deem him fit enough to return home. However, his release was contingent upon taking it easy and not straining himself or his arm which was still held fast in place by a sling.

"Oh yes, he loved it," Jen retorted, strolling through the front door with her son in one arm and a small flower basket in the other. "Brian, can you go down to the lobby and give Chloe a hand? She's waiting down there with the rest of his stuff."

"Sure thing." The tall man ducked back out into the hallway, leaving the siblings alone in the apartment momentarily.

Jen placed the basket down on the kitchen table and eyed her brother as he gingerly set himself down on the couch, feet up on the coffee table and a pillow propped under his bad arm. "So, how _are_ you feeling?"

"Oh God, Jen, I can't tell you how good it feels to breathe clean air again—if I had to spend one more day in that stifling room with Mom hovering over me…I swear, as much as I love that woman I was going to rally a mutiny against her with the hospital staff."

"Ha ha ha, welcome to my world; just be grateful you don't live in the same state as her."

"Believe me, I am, and my appreciation is growing more with every passing day and every passing mile." He turned around as she rounded the sofa and properly looked at her. "Speaking of which, how'd you do it? I mean, how'd you get her to give us a reprieve?"

His sister held her son up before her. "I'd like to introduce you to a little thing we like to call 'the grandchild'. He's cute, he's cuddly and as of right now, he's the only one she's got, so whenever I need Mom to give me my space I tell her I'm taking away Owen privileges until she lets up. This time I told her that if she didn't give us the privilege of taking care of you for the first few days you were back at home then I was taking away Grandma-rights for a month."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" he asked as Chloe and Brian re-entered the apartment with the last of the cards and flowers in tow, as well as Jim's small suitcase. Chloe also held a clear bag with a few prescription bottles close to her chest before depositing them on the counter.

Jen shrugged and cradled her son against her shoulder again. "Maybe, but you have to use whatever leverage you've got; with her, Owen's my leverage." Turning her attention to her child, she added in a baby voice, "Aren't you, Baby? Aren't you Mommy's leverage? Yes you are, yes you are…"

"Honey, you're not bragging about using the baby against your mother again, are you?" Brian turned to his brother and sister-in-law with a mock-look of disgust. "She did that to your brothers and sister for FIVE HOURS…right up until they packed up and left in the rental car!!!!"

"Awww, that's ok, I'm sure he doesn't mind." Now it was Chloe's turn to switch to baby talk as she made her way over to her sister-in-law and her nephew. "Do you, Owen? No, you don't mind being used as a pawn against your Grammy, Auntie Chloe knows you don't mind." She settled next to Jen, still cooing, and tickling the baby's cheek. While the women were engrossed in the baby, the men shared a look and fought hard not to laugh outright at the absurdity of it all.

"Is anyone else hungry? Because I could sure go for a pizza right about now," Jim asked interrupting the cooing twosome sitting near him. Brian nodded his head in enthusiastic agreement.

"I think I'll pass," Chloe announced, turning her gaze away from her nephew and onto her husband, "I've still got a bit of indigestion from something I ate last night."

"Still?" Jen asked, her tone indicating she was more than a little concerned. "But we only had grilled chicken and salad."

"I know, but maybe my meat wasn't cooked enough, I don't know…I think I'll go grab a couple more antacids. Jim, it's time for you to take your meds, too." She hefted herself up out of her seat slowly and headed for the kitchen. Checking the three prescriptions bottles on the counter, she found the one she was looking for and knocked out two red pills, handing them over to Brian who leaned against the countertop nearby, waiting for the go-ahead to order the pizza.

She handed the pills and a glass of water off to her brother-in-law. "Make sure he drinks the whole glass, will you?"

He gave her a mock salute. "Can do, Boss." Snatching up the cordless phone in his free hand, Brian strode over to the sofa and held the pills out to Jim while Chloe made her way down the hall in search of the much-needed antacids. "Here you go—drink up and I might just order us a Meat Lover's pizza."

The patient stared down at the red pills that had been deposited in his hand. "Ugh, I hate pills…"

"Jimmy, is there anything about the medical profession you _do_ like?" Jen asked teasingly.

He glanced from side to side, his eyes dancing with mirth as he made sure his absentee wife was not within ear shot. "The candy stripers," he teased.

Brian laughed uproariously, and the walls seemed to shake along with his shoulders, so consuming was his amusement at Jim's answer. Both men were so busy drowning out Jen's admonishments with their cackling that they missed hearing Chloe's groan from the back hallway.

"Honey!" She doubled over, holding onto the wall, the pain was that quick and intense. A brief moment passed as she tried to regain her breath before crying out again. "HONEY!"

Jim gulped loudly, worried that he'd been found out. "Yes?"

No answer was forthcoming, so he wriggled out of the sofa and went to investigate. His wife was clutching the wall, her green eyes opened wide and she stared straight up into his face looking very frightened. "What is it, what's the matter? Are you alright?"

Chloe opened and shut her mouth, looking like a fish out of water. "I…I…"

"Yes, you…?"

"I…" She stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "I think I might be going into labor!"


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N: **Once again, I have been very delinquent in getting back to all the kind readers who have left me reviews. I'm really very sorry and I'm hoping--fingers crossed--that I will have time to respond by this upcoming weekend. Here is an extra long chapter (with a very special deliver!) for all of you in the hopes that you'll continue to leave reviews. Thank you, and enjoy!

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 12, 2010, 9:16 pm. **Clark and Josh gently escorted Chloe back into the apartment; Jim wasn't far behind, her small rolling luggage trailing alongside him in his good hand, while the rest of the family brought up the rear; in another minute, the living room was transformed into a circus full of Olsens, Sullivans and Kents. Jim's mother and three of his siblings were halfway back to Connecticut when they got the call that Chloe was headed for the hospital and they turned the rental car around immediately, Cheryl not wanting to miss the blessed event, while Ian Sullivan had been sitting in the Metropolis airport lounge waiting for his flight to be called; his luggage was now in an airport terminal in Kansas, having successfully boarded the flight that he had missed, while his twin grandchildren had yet to put in an appearance.

Several of the nursing staff shuddered at the sight of the infamous Olsen family converging on Met. Gen. once again; they only breathed a sigh of relief when they saw Cheryl Olsen hurry past to get to the maternity ward where she would be out of their hair. The twelve of them had spent the better part of the day hovering around the waiting room on the third floor of the hospital, only to be informed late in the evening that Chloe had gone into false labor and they could all go home.

"I'm sorry again, everyone," the mother-to-be exclaimed for the umpteenth time as she settled into the sofa. "I honestly thought it was the real thing..."

Jim dumped the bag by the front door and rushed to her side. "Sweetheart, it's ok, really; you don't have to keep apologizing." He glanced over at his youngest siblings; the entire family had been reminded time and time again over the course of the last few days just how many homework assignments, tests and—most importantly in Jill's eyes—social functions they'd missed since their emergency flight to Metropolis over a week ago and they were anxious to get back to school. Their eldest brother was not oblivious to this. "_Right, guys?_" he asked, giving the two young adults a very pointed look.

"Right!"

"Absolutely!"

"No need to apologize at all!" the twenty year old twins cried out, practically tripping over each other in their haste to please their brother.

"Thanks guys," Chloe said tiredly, not even picking up on the fact that the apology was coerced as she finally allowed herself to relax. It had been a long day for everyone, and soon Cheryl emerged from the kitchen bearing refreshments, handing the first glass of lemonade off to her daughter-in-law.

"It happens all the time," the older woman announced as she flitted about the room distributing drinks. "Why, I must've gone into false labor three times with James before he finally decided to make an appearance!"

The photographer's face flushed beet red. "MOM!"

"What? It's true! Not that I minded any—I always knew you'd come in your own time—but your father cursed a blue streak right up until the day you finally came out. I think seeing that you were a boy made up for it." She watched him squirm beside his wife, trying to cover his embarrassment with the side of his good hand.

"Nothing like that happened when Angie was pregnant with our little girl," Ian suddenly countered from his perch on a displaced dining room chair on the other side of the living room, "We went in the hospital one day as a two-some and went home a three-some; I remember during the last few months of her pregnancy, she kept saying that she felt like the girl in that Gene Wilder movie...you know, the one about the candy factory? There's a girl in it that eats a piece of gum and blows up to the size of a house..." His voice trailed off in thought while the young people around him laughed.

"DAD!" Chloe cried out indignantly, her cheeks flushing to match her husband's.

"The name you're looking for is Violet" Brian answered confidently, still chuckling.

"What?" the Midwestern man asked with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Oh, Violet, that's right!!! And it's true, Chloe, your mother used to say that the only difference between her and that little girl in the movie was that she never turned blue…although, if I were honest there was this one blouse she insisted on wearing that did make her look something like a blueberry..." His eyes twinkled with mirth as the rest of the room joined him in ribbing the parents-to-be, the tension of the last several days and especially the last few hours finally beginning to melt away.

"You know," Lois began once the hilarity died down a little, "Violet Olsen isn't a bad name."

Jill's eyes went wide with delight. "She's right, it isn't! Ohh, how about Violet Jillian Olsen, after her favorite Aunt? Hey wait a second, didn't we used to have a great-aunt or a third cousin or something named Violet too? Not on the Olsen side, but on the Shea side, I think..."

"How on Earth did you go from great-aunt to third cousin?" her brother Justin interrupted rudely, "They're from completely different ends of the generational spectrum! That's like comparing apples to kumquats!"

Josh furrowed his brow at his more intellectual younger brother. "Apples to kumquats? Bro, I think you might've meant to say oranges, the saying is apples to oranges..."

Clark turned to look at his friends sitting side by side on the sofa, a mischievous grin on his face as the conversation in the room quickly devolved into various heated debates over names and family members from all branches of the Olsen and Shea family trees, and decided to stoke the fire a bit more. "You know, Violet wouldn't be a bad middle name either."

"Oh yes!" Cheryl exclaimed as she set the empty tray down on the coffee table. "That way, if one or both of the babies are girls, you'll be able to name at least _one_ of them after me!"

Brian and Clark's deep, hearty laughs overshadowed everyone else's in the room, while Chloe and Jim leaned on each other, holding their sides in laughter the raucous and impromptu family re-gathering.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 25, 2010, 11:30 am. **"Happy Thanksgiving!" Chloe exclaimed as the door opened, thrusting a bowl of her famous Heath Bar pudding dessert under her bewildered friend's nose.

"H-Happy Thanksgiving to you too," Clark returned with enthusiasm, bending down and giving her a quick peck on the cheek as he took the bowl out of her hands. "But I thought we told you not to bring anything! We're the hosts, and you two are supposed to be taking it easy!" He stepped back so that Chloe, Jim and Ian could enter the apartment and rid themselves of their jackets.

"Making that dessert is easy," she hastened to reply. "Besides, I know how much my favorite nephew enjoys it." The little boy stood close by, grinning, waiting for her to take her jacket off so he could give her a hug.

Clark looked over at his friend, the father-to-be. "Can't you at least get her to ease up a bit, Jim? She's ready to pop!"

He shook his head violently. "Nope, no more than you could get Lois to slow down right up until Haley was born; you remember what she did to Jane Cho at that press conference? Well she's got nothing on Chloe...even if I had two good arms, she'd _still _be giving me a run for my money!!!"

"It's true, I've been watching them," Ian threw in, nodding along with his son-in-law.

The tall man chuckled as he led the way to the living room. "Oh boy, ok, well why don't you three take a load off in the living room with Lois and I'll be right back with some cheese and crackers...Perry's running a bit late but he said he'd be here in half an hour or so and I think the turkey will be done shortly thereafter..."

Lois stood up and helped her pregnant friend ease herself into the armchair. "Where are Martha and Haley?" Chloe asked, full of concern.

"We here!" a tiny voice cried out. The shutters on the bar separating the kitchen from the living room were pushed back with gusto by the little girl as she stood on the counter, her grandmother holding her up so she didn't fall over. Both were dressed in their holiday finest and wore matching aprons over their fronts which were covered in flour, while Haley had an extra dusting of flour in her hair and on her cheeks.

"Yep, I've been given the boot," Lois added, smirking as she sank back down on the sofa beside Ian. "At least temporarily."

"I'm teaching my granddaughter how to make biscuits!" the older woman behind them exclaimed gleefully, the pride evident in her voice.

"Yeah!" Haley squealed as she was plucked off the counter and back out of sight.

Jason stood with his father at the head of the room. "And I get to eat 'em!"

The boy's appetite was the stuff of legend, and all the adults couldn't help but laugh. Soon Chloe was seen struggling to get up. "Nature calls," she announced as her father helped heft her out of her seat. "This is one bit about pregnancy that I won't miss." Lois chuckled knowingly as the young woman moved out of the room.

A half an hour came and went, the turkey was ready, and all that was missing was the infamous Perry White. Lois and Clark stood huddled in conference around the meal in the kitchen, the shutters closed once again.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this food warm," Clark announced quietly, a thoughtful hand on his chin as he directed and re-directed his heated gaze to the turkey, stuffing, and other fixings. "Ten more minutes and this meat will be too dry for anyone's liking."

"I know, I know." She lifted up one of the wooden slats, sneaking a peek at her family and friends sitting around chatting; the adults were holding up well enough but she saw Jason begin to tease Haley, which was a precursor to a full-on meltdown for each of the Kent children. "But Perry isn't answering any of his phones." A cry from the little girl drew both parents' attentions outside the kitchen. "That's it, we're sitting down," Lois announced, striding out of the room. "Dinner's ready!"

Everyone rose and moved from the living room into the dining room as Clark bore the tray of turkey out of the kitchen. He set it down in the middle of the table, preparing to go back and retrieve the mashed potatoes and bowl of peas, when he caught the curious look on Chloe's face as she stood on the threshold between the rooms.

"What's the matter, Clo?"

"My—..."

"Sorry I'm late!" Perry cried out as he let himself into the apartment, his voice drawing closer as he made his way to the table. "But you know how everyone drags their feet when they have to work a holiday; I had to pop into the _Planet_ just to make sure tomorrow's issue got off without a hitch and that everything was..." He stopped behind Jim's wife and stared at her oddly. "What's the matter with you?"

Now all eyes were on Chloe and she gulped loudly. "My water just broke."

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 25, 2010, 4:48 pm. **The young man stood beside the bed in bright blue scrubs, seemingly unruffled by this latest turn of events—a first, given his fondness for fainting over the course of his wife's pregnancy. Jim gave her his good arm to brace herself upon and she was now squeezing the ever-living daylights out of his lone working hand. "Chloe, I don't think this is what the doctors had in mind when they told me to take it easy," he said teasingly as he attempted to wiggle his fingers under her vice-like grip.

"You've GOT to be…KIDDING ME!!!" Chloe replied through gritted teeth. Another spasm rolled over her and she clutched his hand tighter still. As soon as the contraction passed, she added, "You…BIG…LUG! Do you…want to…trade places?!"

"Um…" He looked at the sling and then back at Chloe panting away, about to give birth—_twice_. "No, definitely not."

"You're doing great, Mrs. Olsen, just hang in there," the maternity ward nurse said, giving Chloe's knee a reassuring pat before moving away.

"You hear that, Honey? Just hang in there a bit longer, you can do it!"

Chloe collapsed against the pillow, blonde hair plastered to her face, and she struggled to catch her breath before the next round. "Ok…ok…"

* * *

Ian Sullivan, Perry White and the Kents all sat down together in a hospital waiting room for as many times in as many days, only this time it was under much happier auspices than before.

"If it isn't one, it's the other," Perry remarked, looking at Ian and Clark with a sly smirk on his face.

Ian looked at the two men blankly before sticking his finger in his ear again. "Huh? Another what?"

With a knowing smirk all his own, Clark turned to the older man beside him. "Ian, what's wrong with your ears?" Another blank look followed in answer and Clark pointed to the side of his own head.

"Oh, my ears! Don't worry, it's just temporary. It was Cheryl's shrieking...when I told her that Chloe was going into labor she just let 'em rip. Be thankful you weren't on the other end of that phone; the woman's got a set of lungs on her that rival an air horn!"

The Editor-in-Chief cracked up. "How long until the Olsens get here? I mean, that is assuming they're coming."

"What?!" Clark pantomimed driving a car for the temporarily deaf man. "Oh, Jim's family! Yeah, they're driving down...should be here in an hour or two."

Haley dashed across the room towards her father with a storybook in her hands and biscuit crumbs around her mouth; in their haste to get out of the apartment and over to the hospital, the family only had time to grab their jackets, the diaper bag, and a heaping basket full of rolls. The little girl unceremoniously scrambled up into her father's lap and waved the book in front of his face.

"Do you want me to read you a story, Cookie?" he asked indulgently. She nodded her head, her grin encompassing half her face. "Then what do you say?"

"Peese?"

"Ok here, let's see. Ohhh, 'Alice in Wonderland', very good choice." Clark cleared his throat and the little girl settled in, staring up at him expectantly with wide blue eyes. "'Alice was beginning to grow _very_ tired of sitting next to her sister…'"

* * *

**6:35 pm.** "Well if it isn't one it's the other!!!!" Josh exclaimed exuberantly as he stepped into the waiting room, unconsciously echoing Perry's earlier sentiment. In his hands was a large basket full of flowers which he quickly set down on the nearest empty chair while his siblings all filed in behind him, dressed up for the holiday. One woman, however, was conspicuously absent.

"Where's Cheryl?" all five adults in the room asked in unison, anxiously eying the doorway. Her children chuckled at their apprehension.

"She's in the gift shop," Jill answered.

"You'd think she was loading up Noah's ark the way she's buying every stuffed animal in the place," Justin added, rolling his eyes. "And all of them in pairs."

Jen sat down beside Lois, cradling a very alert Owen in her arms, searching for a cloth in the diaper bag so she could wipe the drool off his chin. "Any news?" she asked anxiously, one mother to another.

The young woman shook her head, tendrils of brown hair falling down around her face. "Not yet."

Cheryl suddenly burst into the room like her own little tornado, carrying two large gift bags filled to the brim. "Look at what I bought for my GRANDBABIES!!!!" she screamed excitedly.

* * *

**6:37 pm. **Jim lifted his head off the mattress ever so slightly; Chloe was resting, the epidural having finally kicked in, and he didn't want to wake her. Still, he couldn't help but feel unnerved, for he could've sworn that he heard his mother screech from somewhere in the hospital.

* * *

**8:24 pm. **As the long day drew on into night the mood in the room began to grow impatient and several of the assembled family members attempted to pass the time by dozing in their seats or delving into one of half a dozen good, long books bought in the gift shop; Jason, however, chose to pass the time by standing in the opposite corner of the room, peering intently at a wall. Clark couldn't help but notice his son's unusual behavior—not to mention the perpetually quizzical look on the boy's face—and he felt compelled to investigate. Lifting Haley gently off his lap and depositing her into Lois' arms , he swiftly crossed the length of the room in four long strides.

"Hey Buddy, you doing alright?" he asked quietly, ruffling the boys hair affectionately.

"Yeah." Jason pursed his lips and continued to stare at the wall, confused. He leaned over to whisper into his father's ear. "Dad, why is Aunt Chloe yelling like that?"

"Like what?"

The little boy furrowed his brow in concentration. "'Owwee, owweee, owweee, make it stop, make it stop!'" he repeated quietly, mimicking his Aunt.

"You can hear that?!?" Clark had been meticulous about reigning in his hearing since he'd inadvertently betrayed the young couple's privacy several months before, but now he chose to tune in to the labor and delivery room far down the hall, a place where those in the waiting room with normal hearing couldn't detect a thing. The look of shock on his face said it all.

His son was exhibiting signs of super-hearing.

Jason had never indicated that this latest power was developing, and Clark could only imagine the cacophony of sounds that were even now flooding his son's young senses. Not wanting to overwhelm or confuse him any further, he endeavored to approach the situation delicately. "Can you hear anything else besides your Aunt Chloe, Buddy?" he asked, trying to ascertain the extent of his son's new ability.

The little boy nodded his head vigorously, sending tufts of hair flying into his face. "I can hear the babies crying in the room where we got Haley, and I can hear a man in squeaky shoes walking down the hallway kind of fast." He tossed his head over his shoulder and giggled as he caught sight of Jim's brother Josh, sprawled out and asleep in a chair. "And I can hear Uncle Jimmy's brother snoring. He's _really_ loud."

A broad smile crossed Clark's face in spite of himself as he watched his boy handling this profound change with a maturity and grace beyond his years. Still, they needed to talk about this latest development, and it was a conversation that couldn't wait. "Jason, would you like to go on a little trip with me?"

He looked around, unsure. "But what about my baby cousins?"

"We'll be back in plenty of time, I promise." Clark held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly.

"Ok." Jason took hold rather reluctantly and followed his father out the door. Lois shot her husband a curious look as the two were about to depart, and he silently waved her off, indicating that she should keep her seat. "We'll be back," he mouthed to her, before slipping from the room with their son in tow.

Clark was careful to take the boy as far away from the labor and delivery rooms as possible as they cautiously wound their way through various hallways to the stairs; as soon as they reached the steps Jason smiled wide, knowing what was to come, and he scrambled up into his father's arms for a special nighttime flight. In the blink of an eye, they'd gained the roof and the Man of Steel put his son down so he could spin into the Suit; one second more and the pair were lifting off into the cool night air.

* * *

Martha returned from the washroom, smoothing down a few fly away hairs, and as she strode over to her daughter-in-law she quickly recognized that something was amiss. "Everything alright?"

"I'm not sure," Lois whispered back. "One minute Jason's just staring at the wall and the next he and Clark head off somewhere without a word to me about where they're going." In an even quieter voice, she added, "They could be in Timbuktu for all I know!"

The older woman sat in quiet contemplation for a moment. "What kind of a look did he have on his face?"

"Who, Clark?"

"No, Jason."

"I guess you could say he looked like…" Her hazel eyes darted around the room searching for a simile and finally falling upon the Chief. "He looked kind of like Perry. His hearing's starting to go but he won't admit it, and he always gets this queer look on his face whenever he's trying to figure out what was just said without asking outright to have it repeated."

"Sounds to me like someone's super-hearing may have just come in."

Lois' face fell open in shock. "Nooo! It couldn't have!" Then considering the facts more carefully, she added, "How come he didn't say anything to us sooner?"

"I suspect that's something you'll have to ask him when he returns," the older woman replied, a clever smile creeping across her face as she casually returned to the chapter she'd been reading in her novel.

* * *

_**Fortress of Solitude, **_**November 25, 2010, 8:29 pm, EST. **Clark went vertical as he reached the roof of the Fortress, holding his son in one arm as they descended into the dark, crystalline palace. For miles and miles around, the only sound that greeted their super-sensitive ears was that of absolute silence.

"How's that, Jason? Better?" he asked as he touched ground.

The boy was too engrossed in taking in his surroundings to pay any attention to his father, staring at the walls and at the dark control panel before them even as he was lowered from his perch down to the ground. "Dad, where _are_ we?"

Clark looked around at the dead relic of his home world with a small frown; it had always been his intention to bring Jason and Haley here and teach them of their Kryptonian past but even now, four years later, it was still difficult to stand there without the crystals present. "This is my 'Fortress of Solitude'," he replied. "But now that you and your sister are here, it's yours as well. It was designed by my biological father, your grandfather, Jor-el; it's where I used to come to think or to find answers."

"Wow…" Jason stepped forward, touching the control panel and probing the depth of the outlets there with his little hand. "How come it's so dark in here?"

Again, Clark heaved a sad sigh. "Because someone took the power source away from me, and I can never get it back."

"Never?" The tall man shook his head just as recognition dawned on his son's face. "Oh, the bad man."

Only nodding his head once, Clark sought to bring them back to the topic that had necessitated the trip and asked after his son's ears once more. "How's your hearing? Are your ears bothering you up here?"

Jason shook his head and turned away, continuing his examination of the Fortress. "No. It's quiet up here—I like it."

"Does the noise bother you when we're at home?"

"Not all the time," the boy answered vaguely as he returned to poking at the control panel.

Clark pressed on. "What does it sound like? Does it get really loud all at once, or is it only if you try and focus in on one…"

"It sounds like the radio in Mom's car when we go through a tunnel, and we get the static with lots of voices," Jason replied, cutting him off. "Sometimes it's kind of loud, and then other times it's kind of fuzzy and in the background, but most times I just ignore it. The only time it ever really bothers me is when I'm trying to go to sleep."

"Hmmm." The tall Kryptonian brought a hand to his chin in thought as he stared intently at his son. "I think if your Mom and I get you a white noise machine that should help block out the other sounds at night and let you get some rest."

"Cool!" Jason replied as he scrambled up the steps to explore the Fortress' inner sanctum.

The young father flew up to the landing where his son now stood, the boy eying one of the dark back rooms while standing in the doorway. "Jason, just how long have you been able to hear stuff now, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't know…awhile, I guess. I don't really think about it too much. You hear stuff all the time too." Jason ran a hand along the crystalline wall as he walked slowly along the perimeter of the main chamber, staring up at the ceiling and into the starry night sky.

_Well now that's interesting, _Clark thought, amazed at how nonchalantly his son seemed to be taking this new development. He ominously cleared his throat, bracing himself for the one question he really didn't want to answer and his mind raced as he though of how best to broach the subject. "Do you…that is, are there any questions you have about what you…um…may or _may not _have heard? Any at all?"

The boy turned around suddenly and stared straight at his father. "There is _one _thing..."

Clark steeled himself as best he could. "Yes?"

"Why does Mr. Rollins down the hallway fart in his sleep and then blame the dog when Mrs. Rollins asks if he did it?"

Jason watched in confusion as his father nearly fell over the ledge, clutching his sides and howling with laughter.

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 25, 2010, 8:46 pm. **"Ice, ice, I need ice," Jim muttered under his breath as he dashed down the hallway, clutching the plastic container in his good hand while his blue, open-backed, scrub-smock flapped wildly in his wake. The hallways were beginning to resemble one another and he quickly got lost, so he looked to the colored stripes painted on the tiles for guidance . "Ok, ok, what did that nurse say? Yellow for the NICU, green for delivery, blue for…" A pair of black loafers came into view and he stopped short. "Ian!"

"Nope, not a father yet, but definitely well on your way to becoming one," the older man announced with a chuckle, clasping Jim on the shoulder and turning him back around down the hall where he'd just come. "And how's my daughter doing?"

"Better than me, I think. She wanted more ice, and it's been five minutes since I left the room and I still can't find the damn ice machine! I need to…"

The grandfather-to-be found a few empty chairs outside a room in the middle of the hallway and sat down. "I think what you _need_ to do is have a seat."

"No offense, Ian, but are you crazy?! Chloe's about to give birth any minute and you think _now_ is a good time to sit and catch up?!"

He chuckled at his son-in-law's anxiety and patted the cushion next to him. "Now's as good a time as any and pretty soon you'll find out that there isn't going to be a whole lot of free time for a chat once you've got two infants at home. Have a seat."

The photographer looked anxiously up and down the hallway before complying hesitantly. His father-in-law sat there looking very relaxed, as if he were on a beach in Miami instead of a hospital in Metropolis. "There's been a lot going on for you lately, hasn't there?" he asked out of the blue

Jim turned to study his father-in-law, looking extremely perplexed. "Sir?"

"Well, with everything going on at your job, then your accident," Ian gestured to the young man's bandaged arm as he spoke, "And now the twins arriving early. It's a lot to take in all at once."

_You have no idea. _Jim leaned back in his chair, feet splayed out before him, letting the stress finally play out on the boyish features of his face. "It is, but I can't think about that right now; Chloe needs me."

Ian reached out and patted the young man's knee reassuringly. "And that right there is how I know you're going to be a great father, because you're always so concerned about everyone else, but right now, Jim, I think you just need to breathe. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to."

"But how do you know that?"

"Because once upon a time, not so very long ago, _I_ was in your shoes and my father told me the same thing—and he was right, it did."

Jim felt tears well up in his eyes at what had remained unspoken; if it weren't for the wonderful man sitting beside him there would be no father figure around to reassure him when he most desperately needed it. The two men sat there with semi-relaxed attitudes while other doctors, nurses and parents-to-be flew past them.

Suddenly, a nurse stuck her head out of one of the doorways searching up and down the hall while stuffing her dark, curly hair into a cap, coming to a stop only when it caught sight of the absentee photographer. "Mr. Olsen!" she cried out sharply, "It's time!"

Jim flew up out of his chair with a speed he didn't know he possessed and bolted toward the delivery room, thrusting the plastic container into his father-in-law's very bewildered hands.

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital**_**, November 25, 2010, 8:50 pm. **Lois stood pacing just outside the waiting room when her husband and son finally rounded the corner and came into view. "Where did you go?" she hissed quietly, not bothering to wait until they were face to face to admonish Clark. "And what took you so long?"

"We went up North, Mom," Jason replied matter-of-factly once he was close enough that he knew she could hear him. "And then we stopped at home so I could use the bathroom. Dad said the babies hadn't been born yet and that we had some time."

Her hazel eyes flew open and she turned from her son to her husband. "So it's true then?" Clark nodded and Lois bent down, hugging Jason close to her before holding him out at arm's length to examine him, as if this latest ability had left a physical mark on his body. "Are you ok, Honey? Do your ears hurt at all? Do you have any questions for me or your dad about what's going on?"

He smiled broadly at her and shook his head. "No, I'm ok. Can I go back inside now and wait for the babies?"

She stood up and stared at him, trying to suppress her surprise, before brushing back his mop of dark hair and kissing the top of his head. "Sure, go right ahead."

"And don't forget our talk about eavesdropping, ok Son?" Clark added with a knowing look. Jason nodded as he slipped back into the room and out of sight.

Lois waited until the door shut behind him to turn her attention to Clark with questioning eyes. "How long has he been able to hear…?"

"Everything?" her husband blurted out, a small, proud smile on his face. "He wouldn't say specifically, but as best I can figure it's only been a couple of weeks. It seems that he can hear sounds from a good ways off, but not with the same clarity that I can, and he's also taught himself how to filter out the different noises so he doesn't get distracted. I taught him a few of my tricks up at the Fortress, and I think we should invest in a white noise machine if we want to have any semblance of privacy from here on out, but Jason's doing amazingly well coping with this new ability."

Lois relaxed and slipped her arms around his waist in a hug. "Oh I'm so glad. When your mother told me her suspicions I got really worried but he seems to be taking everything so well in stride that it gives me hope for when his other abilities kick-in in the future."

"Me too. Now how about you and I re-join everybody in the waiting room—I have a feeling we're going to become an Aunt and Uncle very soon."

Her eyes danced impishly. "You _think_ or you _know_?" she teased as he took her hand and led her back inside.

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital, **_**November 25, 2010, 9:40 pm. **Jim sat in the plush red chair beside Chloe's bed with a carefully wrapped infant tucked into the crook of his good arm. He beamed as he looked into the tiny, sleeping face in front of him before turning and facing his wife and the child she held close to her chest.

"Look at what you did, Clo," he said, his voice full of awe. "Look at what you did."

"Look at what _we_ did," she corrected him. She gave him an exhausted but proud smile and looked down at the squirming baby wrapped up in her own arms. She stroked its rosy cheek soothingly and the child yawned and settled back down, exhausted by its trip into the world. Turning back to her husband, she saw that he was equally enamored with their second child and she felt a wave of love and peace sweep over her the likes of which she'd never felt before.

"Any chance you'll ever want to do this again?" the new father braved after a moment.

"JIMMY! They're not even an hour old yet!!!!" she admonished, taken completely by surprise. Then, gazing back into the faces of her children, she added quietly, "Talk to me again in a year." Several minutes of silence passed as the parents bonded with their babies.

"They're going to need names, you know," Jim prompted. The ever-growing list of baby names had been left in a drawer in their apartment, completely forgotten until now.

"I know." Chloe peered deeply into the face of the infant in her lap. "Hello Abigail…Abigail Sophie," she whispered softly, testing how the name sounded as it rolled off her tongue. The name elicited a smile from both mother and daughter, seemingly sealing the deal.

"Abigail," Jim repeated, testing his daughter's name out for himself. "Abigail Sophie Olsen. I like it." He looked down at his daughter's twin. "And you are…?"

"Sean?" Chloe tried.

Jim shook his head.

"Ethan?"

Another no.

"Liam?"

"Thomas," the new father announced definitively. "Thomas Aidan."

"It's perfect," his wife agreed wholeheartedly. "Abby and Tommy, our two peas in a pod." She looked from her son to her daughter and back again, urging Jim to bring Thomas over to her. He rose up from his seat gently, then slipped the infant seamlessly into the crook of her other arm. They looked adoringly at their children.

"Hello Abby. Hello Tommy."

"Abby and Tommy, our children," Jim repeated in a reverent tone. He leaned over to kiss his wife. "Our family."

* * *

_**Metropolis General Hospital**_**, November 25, 2010, 10 pm. **"Ooohh!!! There are my new _GRANDBABIES_!!!" Cheryl shrieked as the infants were wheeled one after the other into the nursery, sending the adults scrambling to cover their ears. Baby Owen began wailing into his father's shoulder at the disturbance.

"Looks like you've been usurped by your cousins there, Bud," Brian said quietly to the infant as he tried to soothe him. Jen stood beside her husband and flashed a wicked smile at his humor while she rubbed Owen's back, her attention torn between her son and her newborn nieces or nephews. The nursing staff wheeled the bassinets closer to the viewing window so the fourteen pairs of eyes waiting there could get a better look.

Josh's eyes went wide beneath his bushy mane as one of the children instantly locked its sapphire gaze onto him. "Whoa…"

Justin turned to Jill and held up a hand for a high-five which she deftly returned. "We're no longer THE twins! YES!!!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Clark stood next to them, holding Haley up in his arms, her tiny hands pressed against the glass as she tried to get a better look. "Babies," she announced matter-of-factly, peering and pointing at one new cousin, then the other.

"That's right, Cookie, they're babies."

Martha leaned down between her son and her grandson, her eyesight failing her as she tried to read the writing on the little cards over the children's heads without her glasses. Jason stood beside his grandmother, holding fast to his mother's hand; tugging her down, he whispered, "They're so tiny—they're even tinier than Haley was."

Lois nodded her head in agreement, recalling a time when her tall young son had been that size too. "But they're healthy and they'll grow soon enough, you'll see. They're going to be just fine." She took his chin in her hand and kissed him on the forehead, grateful for his health after such a rocky first few years.

Ian pulled his glasses off his face and dabbed at the happy tears that were misting his view of his new grandchildren, his cheeks red as apples from the wide smile that never left his face.

"Well what are they, boys or girls?" Perry piped up from the rear as he struggled to get a good look at the newborns over the tops of everyone's heads. "And what'd Olsen name 'em?"

Jim slipped in quietly beside his father-in-law and his boss, watching everyone stare at his children. "We were blessed with one of each, and we named them Abigail and Thomas—Abby and Tommy for short," he announced triumphantly, his face beaming with pride. Everyone turned on their heel in surprise and showered him with congratulations.

"And Chloe?" Ian asked anxiously, his joy momentarily overthrown by concern for his daughter.

"She's doing great—she sends you her love and says that if all of you want to pop back by tomorrow morning you can see her and meet the twins first hand."

"Of course we'll be back tomorrow!" Josh cried out enthusiastically, completely smitten with his new niece and nephew. Cheryl crept up on her eldest son and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Pulling back, she looked at him with tears in her eyes. "James, you're a Daddy."

A sheepish grin crossed his face. "I know—times two."

"Well this calls for a celebration!" Perry cried out. He produced several boxes from the plastic bag hanging at his side and, turning to his photographer, added, "I hope you don't mind, Jim, but I bought these down in the gift shop; I wasn't sure where you hid your stash from a few months back." The elderly Editor handed out the chocolate cigars with gusto before pulling a real one from his jacket pocket and passing it off to the new father. "For later," he said, with a wink.

"Thanks Chief!" Jim held the cigar in his hands, unable to find his pocket beneath the scrubs. Justin stepped forward and helped pass out the candy cigars for his brother, a light blue one clamped tightly in the corner of his mouth as he worked. Jason took the pink, oblong candy in his hands and looked up at his Uncle Perry, mimicking the man as he held the treat under his nose and inhaled deeply on the plastic; such behavior prompted Clark to crouch down beside him to have a quick chat about the dangers of _real_ smoking, while Lois helped Haley unwrap her treat. Jim sidled up to the window, watching his son squirm fussily beneath the blankets while his daughter slept nearby, oblivious to all the excitement beyond the glass.

"They're amazing, aren't they?" he asked Clark in a quiet voice as the tall man straightened back up. Both men peered in at the newborns.

"Yes they are." His deep, mellifluous voice resonated with feeling as he clasped a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Told you there was no other feeling like it in the world."

The photographer glanced at his friend and smirked, adding under his breath, "And you would know." He turned his attention to the babies once more, basking in the sheer force of the unconditional love he felt for his two little bundles of joy.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N: **Sorry about the super-long wait, but VS and I had some bugs we had to work out. Here you go, the conclusion to "Consequences"!!!

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 12, 2011, 1:50 pm. **A lot had changed in the Slums in the year since Leroy Russell's death—in fact, the whole landscape of the area had changed. What had once been a shadowy, depressed and downtrodden section of Metropolis was in the midst of a transformation into an up-and-coming urban community.

As the true extent of Uncle's influence came to light in the press, the citizens let their outrage be known; if something had been done sooner, the people cried, then all the misery that Leroy Russell had wrought in his twenty year reign might have been avoided completely. Due in large part to the public outcry, the City Council men and women took another look at Isabelle Nonte's proposal to revitalize the East Side and overwhelmingly accepted. Ground had been broken after the first of the year and the heiress could not have been more thrilled, as was catalogued in one of Chloe Olsen's first post-maternity leave articles:

"[…] [By] updating the area while still making it affordable, Metropolis will be able to tap into a brilliant resource within the community. 'In revitalizing the East Side,' Ms. Nonte said, 'We can turn a former blight on our fair landscape into a credit to us all. I am humbled and excited to be a part of this project and I hope that other citizens of the city will join with me and the City Council in our efforts'" (Olsen; Metropolan News Magazine, Volume 32, Issue 5).

Her plea did not fall on deaf ears, as donations and volunteers came out in droves to revitalize the East Side. Clark watched with pride as he witnessed the city rebuild itself in the wake of Leroy's destruction and he often volunteered his time and talents to the project (under both guises).

Today, however, was another story. Superman hovered over the gray cloud layer above the hilly fields of the Star of the Sea Church cemetery, gazing intently at the stoop-shouldered older woman in a long black coat standing to the left of three graves of varying ages. She placed her last bouquet of flowers at the tombstone of the nearest grave with a stony face, her tears having already been spent.

For all the good that had come about in the area within the last year, it was only Rose Russell who continued to suffer at 'Uncle's' hands. She alone remembered the young man he'd once been, before he adopted the cruel and destructive persona that had become his legacy, and it was for him, her husband and her grandson that she now came to mourn. Superman remained a long while, watching over her in the midst of her despair, and while he couldn't say he was sorry to see Leroy gone, he fervently wished he could have taken away her unending pain.

_Lois once said I could easily have gone the same way,_ he thought to himself as he watched the poor woman dabble at her cheeks with a pocket handkerchief. _What made us so different? Where did the road split? We both had 'gifts', we both lost our fathers young…so why did Leroy choose the path that he did while I chose the other?_ The longer Clark stayed there, the more unanswerable his questions became until he couldn't take it anymore. Going vertical once again, he continued his return flight over Metropolis, quietly slipping away from the scene below and moving closer toward home.

As he crossed the city, he kept his ears open for distress calls, only to recognize two very familiar voices in the midst of a very unusual argument . Try as he might, he could not stop himself from peering in on his friends in this instance, if only to match what he was hearing with the picture he'd formed in his mind. Clark stopped once again and x-rayed through the cloud layer beneath his feet to see what the cause of the disturbance was in the Olsen home, only to be met with a sight that made him laugh so hard tears ran down his face; for a brief second he thought he'd plummet straight out of the sky while chuckling at the ridiculous sight. Only when he'd sufficiently recovered did he venture home to his own family.

* * *

_**Metropolis, **_**November 12, 2011, 1:30 pm. **Jim shifted the large brown package in his hands wincing slightly as the large camera bag slung across his shoulder continually bashed into his hip as he rode up in the elevator. He assumed that the box in his arms was a birthday present for his children from his mother; and the more he thought about Abby and Tommy, the more his mind began to wander over all that had transpired in the last year.

Where once Jim couldn't tell his children apart without a quick diaper-check, he now knew how to tell without even looking at them, just by listening to the way in which they breathed. How many hours he and his wife had spent sitting by their cribs or standing in the doorway he couldn't say, but the steady in and out of their breath, punctured only by the occasional and unknowing sigh, reassured him that all was right in the world.

Meanwhile, the two Olsen children were growing up into two very different babies, with personalities unique only to them. Everyone close to the family remarked on how much like Jim young Tommy was, as he was an easygoing baby who inherited his father's sand-colored hair and wide brown eyes that seemed to drink in the world around him, but the boy _did_ inherit one purely Sullivan-istic trait; he had a mischievous streak that was a mile wide.

From the moment he learned to crawl, Tom became a terror, forever scurrying about the apartment and trying to get his hands on anything and everything within reach. He then had to examine it with his eyes, hands and mouth until one or another parent would catch him and take it away. Then he was content to move on to the next object, not satisfying himself until he covered the whole house in his spittle. It was just the other day that Jim had rescued one of Chloe's favorite paperbacks, Ender's Game, from becoming a pile of pulpy mush. "That's what you get for leaving it within reach of the little Goober," he'd remarked with a chuckle and a smile as he snatched the book mid-way to his son's mouth.

Abby, on the other hand, had inherited her mother's good looks along with her grandma Olsen's temperament. Her blond baby hair curled ever so gently around her chubby cheeks, serving only to draw more attention to the emerald colored eyes that looked so sweetly into her parents' faces…until she started bawling and howling the moment something displeased her. On more than one occasion, a very frazzled Chloe threatened to change their daughter's first name to Cheryl if she didn't calm down, but nothing could appease Abby—not even Jim's patented 'Daddy Dance', which worked so well with her brother when he fussed—and the only thing they found that could ease her discomfort was a _flying_ trip in her Uncle's arms.

They'd discovered the trick when the children were about two months old, Lois, Clark and the kids having stopped by for a visit. Not more than fifteen minutes in and Abby began to fuss, refusing to settle down despite repeated attempts to rock, feed and change her; that's when the tall Midwesterner stood up and offered his friends his 'special' services. "May I?" he asked, holding his arms out to take the child. Jim looked to his wife who met his gaze with one that was equally anxious and he shifted his daughter to the other shoulder noncommittally. "It'll be alright guys, trust me." Soon Jim had relented and passed Abby into his friend's arms.

Abigail was a healthy size and weight for a two month old twin, yet she was still dwarfed by the massive size of her Uncle's hands, and the adults all watched with bated breath as Clark cradled her close to his warm, broad chest. Soon he began talking to her in slow, soothing tones, forcing her to relax. "There, there, Abby...it's alright." Slowly but surely he lifted up off his feet, reclining backward until he was almost parallel with the floor, then started to rock gently from side to side like a hammock in the breeze. Almost instantly the little girl began to settle down, and five minutes later she was dozing in his arms.

The new mother reached up on tiptoe, giving her friend a quick kiss on the cheek while reaching for her daughter to try and gently extricate her from his hold. "Thanks Clark. You're a lifesaver."

He simply chuckled at the irony of her words and handed the little girl over to her mother. It wasn't the last time that their friend had been called in to help, and he always graciously passed off their thanks with a shy grin. Jim smiled at the memory—_I can't believe that that was only ten months ago…Abby's gotten so big since then!_—just as he arrived at his front door.

Life had undeniably changed in the last twelve months, and in Jim's mind, it was only for the better.

* * *

Chloe heard the key turn in the lock and a knowing smile crossed her face. She held Abby up to the cloth that was draped over her shoulder, patting her back to try and get her to burp. "Who's at the door?" she asked her daughter in a sing-song voice just as she belched. "Good girl, Abigail! Now let's go see who's at the door...I bet it's Daddy!" Tommy toddled behind in his wheely chair, the only safe place she could think to put him when it was just her at home with the twins, and he was giggling and smiling as broadly as his mother at the prospect of seeing his father.

"I'm home!" Jim dropped the large box just inside the door and quickly whipped out the small digital camera he kept in a pocket. "Say Cheese!"

She smiled and rolled her eyes, balancing one baby on her hip while the other toddled up and bumped into her shin. "Cheese!" After the flash went off she bent down to rub her sore leg. "You never leave home without at least one camera, do you?"

"Nope, never; and more often than not I carry two," he replied, patting the large camera case at his side. Jim leaned in for a kiss, cradling Abby's head with his hand as he did so. "And how are my girls today?"

"We're just peachy, and you?"

He bent down to pick Tommy up out of his seat as he replied, "I'm great, actually; I think I got some perfect shots for Perry at the grand opening of the Nonte Family Community Garden over on the East Side. Oh, by the way, Isabelle said to say hello."

"Aww, that was sweet of her; I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you, but it really looked as though Tommy was fighting a cold and I didn't want to risk dragging them both out in this lousy weather. I'm glad you had a good day though…now, do you mind telling me what's in the box?" she asked, leaning over to examine the package he'd dropped on the floor in his haste to get to his camera.

"I'm not sure; it looks like something Mom sent over for the kids. Maybe it's for their birthday? Do you think we should wait and open it then?" He nudged the cumbersome package towards the kitchen table with his foot, then tried to lift it and hold their son at the same time.

"Here, take Abigail; I'll pick it up," she announced, handing over their daughter. She made short work of the box and all four pairs of eyes peered cautiously inside until Chloe pulled out one of the outfits her mother-in-law had sent. "You have got to be kidding me!" She turned to her husband and held the clothing flush against her chest. "Is she serious, Jim?!"

"Uhhh..." He looked inside and around the outside of the box. "Well, I guess it's safe to say it's not just a birthday gift…"

Chloe looked at the outfit once more in disgust. "This is punishment for opting to spend the day with the Kents instead of with her, isn't it? Well forgive me for wanting a few extra hours of sanity before the long drive to Mayfield...and doesn't she know we're going to be heading up to her house the day _after_ Thanksgiving? It's not like we're abandoning her! And she's got four other kids sharing the same state with her! For crying out loud!!!"

"I know, Clo—she's just being Mom, that's all."

She glared at him before instantly melting at the adorable sight before her; all three wore identical, apologetic looks on their faces. "I know, and I know it's not your fault, I'm sorry I snapped at you." Chloe glanced down at the clothing in her hands just as something on the front jiggled. "But I am NOT dressing our children up in these…ridiculous get-ups for her, absolutely not! Why they even make these things is beyond me!"

"Owww…here, you have to take him, he's biting down on my scar like it's a chew toy again." He passed the boy off, leaving a wet stain on his shirt where the infant's mouth used to be. "Now what if I told you I had a solution that would make both of you happy?"

"Playing peacekeeper again, are we?" she teased, nudging him playfully with her elbow.

Jim grinned from ear to ear. "That I am, so why don't you take them down the hall and dress them up and I'll get things set up out here." Her face fell as he made the suggestion and she stood stubbornly rooted to the spot, refusing to take Abby off his hands. "Please? Trust me, it's a good compromise, you'll see."

"Ok..." She reluctantly took her daughter back from her husband and he pulled the second outfit from the box, handing it off to her. With one last, lingering glare she turned on her heel and moved down the hall, wondering what Jim was up to.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later. **"They look...they look..." he stuttered, searching for the right word.

"They look _ridiculous_, absolutely and totally ridiculous," Chloe answered for him, rolling her eyes yet again at her mother-in-law's antics.

He chuckled. "They look like little hams."

"They're not hams, Jim, they're turkeys." Both parents studied the outfits once more as their kids sat on the couch, fully-dressed and oblivious to their parents' plight. Cheryl Olsen had mailed two brown onesies with hoods to go over their heads; a turkey face protruded from the belly, and thick, multi-colored fabric feathers had been sewn onto each arm.

Chloe and Jim watched as Abby coughed and the eyes on the turkey-face front jiggled along with her tummy. "Ok now _that_ is just plain creepy." He bent behind the camera on the tripod to set up his shot and avoid the loopy-eyed gaze of his daughter's turkey.

Tommy, meanwhile, had grabbed hold of one of the "feathers" and stuffed it into his mouth, prompting Chloe to go over and pull it out. Changing tactics, she said, "You know, I actually feel pretty badly for our kids."

"Oh?" He popped his head back up again. "Why is that?"

"Because instead of one crazy grandma they got stuck with two."

"Chloe!!!" he cried out in an admonishing tone as she shook with laughter. He couldn't keep the pretense up for long, however, and soon joined in the mirth. When he regained his breath, he added, "That wasn't very nice...it's true, but it's still not nice." She just grinned madly at him and he bent back down behind the camera. "Alright, now all I have to do is fiddle with the time stamp and voila!" Jim snapped several shots in rapid succession as the kids sat propped up on the sofa. "We're done! You can take the costumes off now. Heck, we can even get poetic and roast them in the oven if you want to."

"Not that I'm not tempted, but we better not. We'll still have to change them before we can head up to your mother's and she can see them wearing these horrid things."

He stepped over and kissed her on the cheek. "No, we won't."

"Yes, we will."

"No we won't."

"Yes we will."

"Clo, for the last time, no we won't. Look, we have the pictures here, ok? So the day after Thanksgiving, we can dress them up anyway we want and then when we get to Connecticut we'll tell Mom that the outfits somehow got ruined the previous day; Abby spit up on hers, or Tommy pooped in his, or vice versa, it doesn't really matter. Anyhow, they were un-wearable but we have pictures of them from the day before if she wants to see what they looked. See, I've got it all figured out."

She stood back and studied her husband with a look of amazement on her face. "Not bad, Jim, not bad. You're getting pretty underhanded there and it's turning me on. There's only one problem with your plan though."

An eyebrow arched up on his forehead as he considered her words. "What's the problem?"

"Your mother might insist on washing the 'ruined' outfits and re-dressing our kids; heck, she might have bought a matching one for Owen and want to get a group shot."

Chloe watched as he palm-smacked his head and quietly cursed under his breath. "Ok, well you can't say I didn't try. We'll pack the outfits and hope it doesn't come to that and we'll burn them when we get home after the trip. Deal?"

"Deal."

She scooped up Tommy and he followed suit with Abby, quickly pulling the hood off her head and kissing the top of her downy blond hair. The little girl turned to look up at her father and flashed him a genuine smile, one that proudly displayed the few baby teeth that had already come in, and his heart melted. "Did you ever think we'd be this lucky?" he asked, still staring at his little girl in awe.

Chloe clutched the little boy tighter in her arms and maneuvered around the couch, following Jim as he made his way to the nursery. "There were a few hairy moments there where I had my doubts..." Her voice trailed off as she flashed him a wicked grin. "But yes, deep down I knew we would be this lucky."

"Hmmm..." Jimmy pondered that a moment as he plopped Abby down in her crib, before taking Tommy out of his wife's arms and setting him down as well.

"What are you doing? I thought we were going to change them and then get dinner ready, why are you putting her down for a nap?" He set his son down too and soon both children were on their feet, grasping the rails of their cribs and staring at their parents in confusion at the change in their routine. Chloe watched her husband move about the room silently before he reached out and took her hand in a tight grip, pulling her into an embrace.

"I know something that'll make you _very_ happy."

"Jim, what are you...?" Her question was smothered by a fiery kiss and she felt herself melt in his arms; she soon found herself swept entirely her feet entirely and carried out of the room.

The twins stood in their separate cribs staring at one another, then at the open door and back at each other, listening intently to the escalating giggles and squeals of delight coming from down the hall.

"Mama?" Abby asked hesitantly, looking back at the spot her parents had just vacated. "Dada?"

Tommy waved at the empty doorway. "Bye bye!"

**THE END**


	66. Final Author's Note

**Final Author's Note: **Well here we are again, at the end of another literary journey (and one that you seem to have all enjoyed due to the numerous messages you've sent me). I wanted to say thank you again for the constructive criticism and kind words; I'm so glad that you've enjoyed "Consequences" and it makes all the long days and nights slogging through the rough parts completely worth it.

Many of you, knowing that there are still three more installments in the series, have asked me privately and publicly for a teaser of things to come. I'm sorry to say that at this time I do not have a title ready for the third installment; I do, however, have several chapters for the piece written. It is to be a collection of shorts capturing some of the more 'important' moments in the lives of the Kents and the Olsens while bridging the gap created between "Consequences" and the fourth installment. But what happens in the fourth tale, you ask?

I'll never tell…not until I'm good and ready to post it, anyway. He he he, the evil cliffie writer in me comes out yet again!

Now before I take my leave I would like everyone to give VictorianSuperman a BIG round of applause for all the wonderful beta work she's done over the last year or so. She has been a HUGE help to me, letting me rant at all hours of the day/night when "Consequences" started getting to me, and her spelling/punctuation and grammar edits were always spot on. VS, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all your help and hard work!!!! I would never have finished this story without you and you know that's true, so now everyone should give thanks where thanks is due, to VictorianSuperman.

And now here's the roll call of everyone who left a review—be it one line or one paragraph—letting me know what you thought of "Consequences": Chris St Thomas, Severus-is-my-man5690, countryLexluv, beauty0102, Shannon K, mamaXunicorn, Saela, repmetsyrrah, cool witch, LadyFii, VictorianSuperman, NiteAngel, t wrecks, mak5258, Leena7, DragonFlame27, Pony R., JamesTKent, Blackhawk, Bellarata, Kara-El, lilbit4, Chlollie, Jace3, winthjo, Mellie s, katydidtoo, Monaivendork, Jazzrose343, KlynneL, Alice I, xxClois-LuverXX, supesfan18, and ArodLoverus2001. If I forgot anyone then I am supremely sorry, though I tried to be as thorough as possible.

Thank you all again so much, for all your kind thoughts and words, and be sure and stay tuned right here for the next installment! Bye!


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